


Heart-Tree To Heart-Tree: To The Wall

by Piggy_saBinring



Series: Heart-Tree To Heart-Tree [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Nods to ASOIAF, Post-S6, Show Verse Only, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piggy_saBinring/pseuds/Piggy_saBinring
Summary: Bran and Meera's "adventures" beyond the Wall with Uncle Benjen.





	1. Night One

**Author's Note:**

> \- Part One is literally just the "missing" time between Bran & Meera's second scene in 6x06 and their scene in 6x10.  
> \- Part Two is where I start flogging the AU/canon divergence horse to death with blissful abandon (because I kind of really hate Season 7 with a rather pathological vehemence).
> 
> Shout out to MagnusAntoniusBarca and Musicalmysteries who helped me out by being my betas/test readers.
> 
> Please leave a comment and/or review below...

Benjen Stark watched his young nephew sleep fitfully. It was moments like these that still felt odd to him. Sleep was something he would never be able to do again. It left an uncomfortably long time to think while his companions slept.  He was the sentinel, the eternally vigilant guardian, but anyone could have seen that Meera had formed a powerful connection with Bran and would likely die for him if necessary.  
A fleeting thought passed through Benjen's mind, and he turned to observe Meera. There was no mistaking that she was Howland's daughter from her features, just as Bran's showed him to be Ned's son. Unbidden, memories of a time long past surfaced. His siblings, now all dead. The tournament the four of them attended together, the tournament where they met Howland Reed.  
Benjen was stabbed by a twinge of guilt. That was where everything had started, the beginning of the path that had led to a bloody war, one whose repercussions had led to his family's destruction. Sometimes Benjen wished he could go back and change it all, but he knew it was impossible, and his part in events haunted him now, even decades later.

Meera had woken and eyed him carefully. She still feared him, even knowing his relation to Bran. Not that Benjen blamed her. He really did look nightmarish, with his dead looking skin and hands dark from pooled blood. Benjen took some rabbit left over from their recent meal and wordlessly offered some to Meera.

+++++++++++++

Meera wasn't going to lie. The presence of Bran's uncle, whilst welcome, was still disconcerting, to say the least. She tried desperately to keep her fear off of her face, lest the elder Stark think she was rude or ungrateful. Meera took the offered food wordlessly, trying to avoid looking at his hands overly long. She averted her gaze to Bran, concerned with the intensity of his... Dream? Vision? Meera scarcely could tell the difference these days.

Her thoughts drifted to her brother. Jojen would have known. He always seemed to know what Bran was doing and what he needed. Their lord, their prince, their friend. Her brother had known too that the journey would be his last. Memories of the day they reached the cave of the Three-Eyed Raven resurfaced. It was an emotional gut-punch. Overwhelmed with guilt, Meera turned her face away so neither Bran nor Benjen would see the tear running down her cheek.  
She remembered the look of resigned acceptance in Jojen's eyes, even as he lay dying in her arms in the snow. The gleam of her knife. The faint, forgiving smile on his lips. The resistance of his skin and the wet sound as her knife cut into his throat. Even though it was mercy, it still haunted Meera. She couldn't even tell Bran, because of the guilt he harboured and the blame he felt over Jojen's death.  
So Meera hid her guilt behind anger and frustration, and yet she knew that cut to Bran's heart as well. He'd known loss too. From everything her father had said – and often not said – about Bran's father, Ned Stark had been a great man; and if he had been half the man that Bran seemed to be becoming, then Meera believed it too. She wiped the tear away and turned her eyes back to the still-sleeping Bran.

“Do I frighten you so much, child?” Benjen suddenly asked her. Startled, Meera turned to look at him. So he had noticed. Her face reddened in shame, and she lowered her gaze in embarrassment. To Meera's great surprise, Benjen let out a soft chuckle. “Don't worry, if I were in your shoes, I'd be frightened too,” he admitted. She looked up at him again and saw what was likely a ghost of what he'd been like before.  Benjen's smile became sad. “You're Howland Reed's daughter, aren't you?” Surprised and unable to trust her voice, she just nodded. Eyes far away in time and space, he continued,  “ I met him at the tourney at Harrenhal, you know. All four of us did...” He trailed off.

Meera responded after a seemingly awkward silence descended. “I didn't realise he was at the tourney... he rarely spoke about anything that happened before I was born,” she replied, not knowing what else to say.

Another ghost of a smile played across his lips. “Your father was a good man,  _ is _ a good man,” Benjen stated, then corrected himself. He looked directly at her. “From what I've seen, you're very much like him.  Strong, despite your size. Fierce. Loyal. A tough little fighter... He saved my brother's life during the war, you know. ”

There was only one war Benjen could have been referring to. Robert's Rebellion. Meera shook her head, indicating she did not know. “I didn't,” she told him quietly. Now it was her turn to look sad. “My brother asked Father once about the war,” Meera recalled. “He became somewhat melancholy and distant... yet Father never said a word in answer. We knew not to ask him after that.”  
Briefly, she smiled sadly at the memory of her brother from so long ago. “Jojen told me later that he saw Father during the war in his visions. I knew that he knew why Father wasn't able to speak about it. But Jojen's sadness made it clear that he couldn't tell me either.” She paused. “I know Bran's seen it as well. One day at the cave he was rather agitated, and I overheard him speaking angrily with the Raven about our fathers and a tower.”

Bran had started to mumble in his sleep. Both Benjen and Meera turned to see if Bran was alright. They watched him in silence for a few moments. Meera nibbled at her rabbit chunk a bit more. Then the question she was dreading came. “Your brother is dead, isn't he?” Benjen gently asked. Unbidden the tears came, and Meera silently chided herself for her outburst. “I'm sorry,” Benjen apologised, “I didn't mean to upset you... it's just you reminded me of myself after...” After a few moments, he continued. “You reminded me of myself after my father and brother and sister died...”

Meera was surprised by his admission, but her guilt got the better of her. “Did you kill them? Did you hold a knife to their throats?” she bitterly retorted. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him there, in my arms, his blood pouring out the gash I made in his neck. Leaf burning his body...” She choked on her angry tears, and glanced at Bran, praying he hadn't heard her and woken up. Luckily he hadn't.

Benjen sat wordlessly, looking off into the distance. Finally, he spoke – much quieter than Meera expected. “No, I didn't hold a knife to their throats,” he admitted mournfully. “But I killed them all the same...” Meera recoiled in wordless horror. “Everything that happened, the war... all of it; it started at Harrenhal... and it was my fault.”

+++++++++++++

Benjen couldn't stop his mouth from letting the words pour out. “The first day of the tourney, Lyanna came across three squires, no more than fifteen years old, attacking a smaller-looking boy in unfamiliar clothes. She recognised the sigil on his cloak, though. So she picked up a practice sword and half-beat, half-chased the squires away, declaring that they should unhand our father's bannerman at once.” A flicker of realisation passed over Meera's face. Benjen nodded and continued, “Yes, it was your father. He'd left the Neck to travel to the Isle of Faces – he never did say why.”  
A smile played across his lips again. “So Lyanna marched this rescued Crannogman into our pavilion and declared, to my brothers and I, that he would be our guest for the duration. Only Brandon – my brother Brandon I mean, Bran's namesake – would ever have taken Lyanna on when she demanded something, and he didn't then. So your father sat with us at the high feast, between Ned and me. Howland hadn't brought anything suitable to wear for the occasion, but luckily the two of us were a similar size. I let him borrow some of my clothes for the feast.” He remembered the feast with a particular fondness.  
“I worried the feast might have been a little overwhelming for Howland; a huge castle and so many hundreds of people all together in one place. He hardly spoke unless Ned or I tried to engage him in conversation. But his eyes were rarely still; as if he was trying to see everything at once. It wasn't until later that I realised your father wasn't overwhelmed, he was actually studying the people... every single one of them.” The Night's Watchman smiled wistfully. “Lyanna was on the other side of Ned, and towards the end of the meal, she swapped seats with him. Every so often she'd lean over to ask Howland a question or point something out to him privately. Mostly he would just nod and keep observing things.” Benjen chuckled. “While I watched them both to make sure my sister didn't seem to be getting overly friendly with your father.”  
Meera was clearly incensed by the implication and was going to object strenuously, but Benjen cut her off before she could. “I'm not questioning your father's morals,” he reassured her, raising his hands up defensively. “It's just that my sister was a free spirit and often forgot about how unseemly some things could look.” Meera's anger seemed to cool with  the former First Ranger's reassurance.  _And sometimes I don't think she cared,_ he mentally added. Benjen would never have said that aloud, though. Especially to a near complete stranger. He paused, far away again. “That night Brandon stayed out, as he often did when we were away from home; so your father used his bed. Lyanna told Ned and me what had happened that day. I offered to  find Howland some armour and a horse if  he wanted to reclaim his honour in the lists .”

His companion chuckled a little at the apparent ludicrousness of that concept. “I hope to the gods that Father declined... that would not have ended well.”

Benjen continued, “Aye, he did at that. Ned and Howland were up most of the night, telling each other about where they lived, and talking about the differences between the Neck and the rest of the North. It was fascinating, but Lyanna and I retired sometime during the late evening.” He moved his dark hands nervously and flicked his eyes over to check on Bran. “Perhaps you should come closer; I don't want Bran to overhear.” His nephew stirred slightly at the mention of his name but did not wake.

+++++++++++++

Strangely unafraid now, Meera's curiosity got the better of her. She got up, moved closer to Bran's uncle and sat down again. Benjen continued his story in hushed tones, yet she could tell it was very emotionally charged memories he was bringing up.

“I woke up in the night, and I heard Lyanna whisper my name. She hadn't been sleeping well, either, apparently,” Benjen supplied. “Lya told me that, if your father couldn't avenge his honour in the lists, one of us would have to do it for him.” Meera smiled, understanding some of the reason why her father spoke so highly of the Starks.  
Benjen's sad smile came again before he went on. “I rightly pointed out that Ned and Brandon were too obviously missed, and I was never a great rider. Lya laughed and told me that didn't matter; she'd find some armour and ride herself.”  In shock, Meera's mouth dropped open. “She knew the three squires by sight,” he added, before noticing her reaction. Misinterpreting her response, Benjen stated, “I swear by the gods, in the saddle my sister was practically one with the horse.”

Meera closed her mouth, only to open it again in reply. “I don't doubt you. I was just amazed... your sister must have been quite a woman.”

“Yes, she was,” Benjen agreed sadly, “and taken by the gods far too soon.” He looked forlorn for a few moments. “Do you know the worst part of being like this?” he asked. Meera shook her head, somewhat stunned at the turn the conversation had taken. “It's not the lack of sleeping, as I first thought, even though it gives you far more time to think on things. It's the fact that no matter how much I want to, I'll never cry again.”  
An awkward silence fell between them, and they both turned to watch Bran for a while. After a time, with his eyes still on his nephew, Benjen spoke again, “You remind me of my niece, Arya – the younger of Bran's sisters – the way you are with Bran. Jon told me on the way north to the Wall that Arya had only agreed to leave Winterfell because her Lady Mother was watching over Bran constantly. Gods could they fight, but as soon as anyone or anything came between them, Arya was as fierce as her dire-wolf in protecting him. She was a little angry, I suspect, that the King still insisted on leaving Winterfell on schedule. Arya was rather distraught that she wouldn't be there when Bran woke up.” The more Meera learned of King Robert Baratheon, the more she disliked him, and the lower her opinion of him became.  
Benjen brought her thoughts back to Bran. “If he woke at all,” he quietly added. “Maester Luwin had told Ned that Bran may not live, and Ned confided in me. He couldn't bear to tell anyone but me. Not even Catelyn, his wife – Bran's mother. Especially not Cat. Ned forbade Luwin from telling her, either.” Meera realised for the first time just how horrific Bran's injuries had been. She'd known that he had fallen from a tower at Winterfell while climbing, but no-one had ever told her that for a time they thought Bran could die.

Nonetheless, Meera was pleased that Benjen was telling her things about Bran, even if they were painful memories. No one else she'd travelled with had been able to help out in that regard. Rickon was a child, and Osha was... difficult to speak with. Hodor hadn't been able to say anything but Hodor. Then she felt guilty again. She'd killed Hodor too. Not intentionally, but he was dead now all the same.  
Meera remembered something Bran had tried to tell her, back at the cave, where her grief had been drowning her. Willas. Hodor's true name had been Willas. She was ashamed that she'd been so rude to Bran that day. Meera resolved to apologise to him after he woke. “Would you tell me the rest of what happened with my father at the tourney?” she asked nervously.

For a few moments, she thought Benjen Stark would refuse. Then he started again. “I was the youngest, and once my sister got an idea in her head, there was nothing I could do to dissuade her from acting on it. She told Ned and your father at breakfast the next morning about what she had planned. At the feast the previous night, Lyanna and Howland had apparently been identifying which knights his attackers squired for. She had also found out that all three of the knights were planning to enter the jousting. Lyanna intended to unseat all three, of course.”  
Benjen laughed at the memory. “Any objections Ned had died on his lips when he saw Lya's determination. Your father, he took the most convincing, but only because he feared she'd be injured. After my brother and I had assured him that our sister was one of the best riders in the entire North, Howland relented. Ned never rode or fought in tourneys, but he was expected to watch in eldest brother's stead if he was... otherwise occupied. So Ned found some armour and made sure Brandon didn't learn of our little plan, while your father and I played the part of squires. Lyanna painted her own shield – a weirwood tree with laughing face carved into it. Thus the legend of the Knight of the Laughing Tree was born.”  
Meera noticed how much pride Benjen had in Lyanna at this point in the story. She patiently waited for him to continue. He turned towards her as he did so. “I assume you know little of tournaments or jousting, Meera Reed?” The girl from the Neck shook her head, too shocked to speak over the fact that he'd known her name without asking either Bran or Meera herself. _He knew Father,_ she ruminated. _Perhaps they wrote each other?_

Benjen Stark appeared to have the glimmer of an amused smile in his dark eyes as he started his explanation. “The format of tournament jousting varies depending on the host. Sometimes, the riders must all declare themselves beforehand and are paired off, slowly decreasing until there is one victor. Others, especially ones held in honour of a maid of high birth, are less linear and involve some related features. Traditionally, the Lady whom the tourney is for is assigned the temporary title of 'Queen of Love and Beauty' and appointed a number of champions to defend her. When a single uncontested victor emerges, they then have the right to crown a new 'Queen'.”  
Meera scowled at the meaningless pomp and pageantry, as well as the perceived slight against her sex being good for little more than looking pretty and carrying men's children. _As if we can have no other reason to exist..._ She wanted to roll her eyes. The concept of men fighting over a woman in such a way was offensive to her. It reminded Meera too much of her mother, for some reason. Bran's uncle saw her expression and gave a brief chuckle. “Not to your tastes, I see... Southerners have some strange customs, agreed, but many take comfort in the rituals themselves.”  
The man seemed lost in thought for a moment. “Where was I?” Benjen asked, more for himself than her it seemed. “Oh, right! How the joust worked... As we were at Harrenhal, Lord Whent declared his four sons and his brother, Ser Oswell Whent of the Kinguard, as his daughter's champions. Any man with horse and armour could challenge a champion by riding up to a board set-up to one side of the lists. There a device, usually a shield with a coat-of-arms, was hung to indicate each of the current champions and to make the challenge all you needed to do was tap the device with your lance.”

Meera found Benjen's gaze becoming more and more unfocused the longer he went on, losing himself in the memory it seemed. Apparently, he realised that himself and retrained his eyes on her. “The better knights tend to keep themselves for the later days, allowing those of less skill or experience a more sporting chance to compete.” He suddenly sighed, almost in frustration. “Or as my eldest brother liked to call it, 'Weeding out the less worthy competition'.” Benjen paused momentarily and stroked his beard before continuing. “Brandon was very opinionated, and it was hard to speak with him if he said something offensive like that. I think Ned felt as if our brother overshadowed him and partly didn't participate in tourneys because that was one of the things our Brandon lived for.” The Night's Watchman harrumphed. “Ned despised his other favourite activities but loved our brother all the same. As did I.”  
The Crannogwoman nodded to show her understanding of the sentiment and waited silently for Bran's uncle to continue. He obliged. “All of Lord Whent's sons were eliminated the first day, and no-one dared to challenge Ser Oswell. Very late on in the day, one of the three knights whose squires beat your father came forward. He was the least skilled of the three, but Lyanna had been watching all day in the hope that at least one of them would tilt. Your father and I had joined her, at my suggestion, as I thought three heads might be better than one at strategising.” Benjen snorted. “We weren't the only ones, though.”  
That puzzled Meera as to what the man meant, but she remained silent hoping he'd elaborate. Benjen didn't; at least, not straight away. “Lyanna watched the knight like a hawk during the joust and, after his victory, I saw a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. It meant Lya had seen something she knew she could use against him in the lists. Discussing it after the evening meal, Ned agreed with our sister about the weakness she'd spotted. We were all jubilant as we went to bed. Brandon was out all the night again, so again your father had my brother's cot. Howland apparently slept very poorly that night, as he didn't wake in time for breakfast. We roused him, and he ate as we walked to the tiltyard.”

After smothering a yawn, Meera urged Bran's uncle to tell her the rest of the story. She finished eating what was left of the meat Benjen had given her earlier and washed it down with a few sips of water from a skin the Stark had provided her previously, as he told more of his tale. “We observed the lists all morning until the midday meal.” He canted his head towards her. “The second of the knights had jousted and won by that point. They must have had a standing agreement among them not to challenge the others should they win their bouts. So two out the of three knights we had our eyes on were champions by midday. The third challenged not long after and thus all three were champions by early afternoon.”  
Benjen seemed to be in two minds as he continued, proud of his sister but pained by the consequences of their actions. But he did not show any shame and, for that, Meera was grateful on her Lord Father's behalf. “After two or three more matches, Lyanna excused herself. She claimed that she wished to retire for a time and maybe walk some of the famous castle.” A cheeky gleam settled in Benjen Stark's eye. “And, of course, Howland and I dutifully offered to escort her along the way.” She grinned at the cleverness of the ruse. It would have been the perfect cover.  
Her companion met her mirth with a somewhat muted smile of his own. “While we were carrying out our task, we just _happened_ to come across where we'd set up our little camp in the godswood for Lyanna to change.” The child of the marshes couldn't suppress the giggle that issued from her mouth. Their 'happening', despite his words, was obviously quite intentional. “After she'd dressed, Lya rode straight up to the champion's board at the next opportunity and with slow, deliberate movements hit all three of the knight's colours, one after the other. Your father and I split up to take up different and secluded vantage points where we could see my sister joust from but still be inconspicuous.”

Meera sat up straighter and leant forward a little, eager to hear the result of these jousts and if Bran's aunt had won back her sire's honour. “Lyanna chose the first knight to ride against and easily bested him.” She sighed in relief. “Traditionally, the loser of a joust must forfeit his horse and armour to the winner or pay a ransom to get it back,” Benjen told her. “But Lyanna rode her horse straight over to her opponent as he sat in the dust removing his shield and helm. She pointed her lance at him and, without raising her visor, loudly informed him that he should not go far. My sister rode back to her mark as the second knight prepared to face her. That tilt was a little more difficult skill-wise but Lya prevailed. She told the fallen knight the same thing as the first. 'Do not go far'.”  
The former First Ranger's smile grew less muted now. “The third knight was nearer in skill to my sister than the other two, and I began to pray to the gods that they would guide her lance true.” He chuckled lightly. “Lya knocked him clean off his horse yet he missed her completely. She told him to join his friends, and she would speak to all three at the same time. The knight, both sullen and sore, obeyed. My sister wheeled her horse around and, sure enough, with the three knights were their three squires. Without raising her visor, voice booming, she told them collectively that their ransom price was to teach their squires honour. After the knights had acknowledged her condition and had chastised your father's bullies on the spot, Lyanna rode off.”  
He kept going. “While that was the end of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, that was not the end of this tale.” Meera was intrigued again and made him go on. “We met up with my sister at the camp and helped her to take off the armour. I was in a great mood, and so was Lya. But your father, he must have sensed what was coming. He was very apprehensive.” Benjen sighed. “We found out the reason later. The Mad King was at the tournament, and in his twisted mind, he had seen the Knight of the Laughing Tree as a threat. So he commanded Crown Prince Rhaegar to find the Knight and arrest him. Lya and I were still jesting with each other when he rode up alone on his stallion. All of us went deathly silent, and your father and I quickly knelt.” He laughed again. “And my sister – my fearless sister – she just stood there. Lya broke the silence by saying, as innocently as she could muster, 'I would kneel, my prince. But I've never attempted it in armour before, and I fear the result would be very unladylike.' And the Crown Prince threw back his head and laughed.”

Meera was amazed by this turn of events. “My father... met Prince Rhaegar?!” she exclaimed. Bran stirred again but didn't wake. _I need to be more quiet,_ she admonished herself.  
  
“Aye, and I as well,” Benjen confirmed, nodding as he did so. “Howland and I looked at each other dumbfounded, not knowing what to make of this turn of events. Rhaegar dismounted his horse and told us all to rise. He commanded us to explain to him what a Lady was doing riding as a knight, with two small boys for squires. Lyanna didn't hesitate to elaborate. She told this same story – from when we arrived at Harrenhal to when Rhaegar arrived at our camp – and also who we were. Then Prince Rhaegar let us know of his father's intentions. We were all fearful then. But he just picked up my sister's shield and remounted his horse. Then he said, 'It will be very disappointing for my father, that the only trace I found of this Laughing Tree Knight, was his shield in the forest. For your own sakes, though – my lords, my lady – do not tarry here. My father will demand I bring men back this way, and I can only stall him so long.' Thus Rhaegar left us in stunned silence. My sister wore riding clothes under her armour, so it didn't take long for us to decamp.”

Benjen stopped talking, so Meera assumed he was finished for now. She inquired, “Rhaegar kept his word, though? The Mad King never found out?”

“No, he didn't, but all the same, not finding us fed into his madness,” Benjen replied. “That night, Brandon was with us, so Ned slept on a mat because he insisted your father take his bed.”

Meera smiled, and interjected, “Your nephew takes after his father then. I've never met anyone as generous as Bran.” She didn't mention that the majority of people she'd met, were after she'd left home with Jojen.

That seemed to please Benjen. “He always was a special boy. His mother doted on him, I suspect because of my brother Brandon. She was supposed to wed Brandon, you see, not Ned. I believe a part of her has always loved my brother Brandon. But then the war happened.” His face darkened. “Or rather it didn't just happen...”

Meera again was intrigued. Whatever Benjen was carrying, it clearly weighed heavily on him. He continued, straining to keep the emotion from his voice. “You see, at the tourney, Rhaegar won the final tilt against Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. As I said earlier, it's traditional for the winner to crown a 'Queen of Love and Beauty'. Everyone present expected Rhaegar to crown his wife. But instead, he crowned my sister.”

“But, why would he do that?” Meera interrupted. The revelation came as quite a shock to her.

Benjen smiled a bittersweet smile. “Because to Rhaegar, my sister had won the tourney, as Lyanna was the only other rider who hadn't lost in the lists. That, and she had apparently disarmed him with her wit the day we'd met him. Ned, your father, and I were stunned at his tacit acknowledgement but worried about the possible consequences of his gesture. Everyone else who didn't know what had just transpired was confused. And Brandon... he was livid. He believed that Rhaegar was actually sullying Lyanna's honour, and would have throttled Rhaegar if we hadn't managed to hold him back.” Benjen sighed. “My eldest brother had quite a temper.”

Meera nodded sagely. “I suppose that would have looked bad without context,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“Very,” Benjen replied. “What Lyanna failed to mention until we got back to Winterfell, was that Rhaegar had put a hidden note in the crown of flowers he'd given her. Even then, she only told me and swore me to secrecy. Apparently, he wanted to correspond on a regular basis. I worried about whether his intentions were honourable, but she let me read his letters and her replies. Slowly, I watched her fall in love with him from afar, and I did nothing. I knew she was promised to Robert, but the more time went by, the more disillusioned she became with her betrothed.” Again, Meera thought of her own opinion of the late King Robert, and couldn't say that she blamed Lyanna Stark for the disillusionment her younger brother claimed she'd experienced.  
Benjen kept talking. “Then, she told me that Rhaegar's wife would likely die in childbirth, and Rhaegar had asked for her hand if it happened. I was stunned, and I demanded to read the letter myself. Lyanna told me she'd burned it, as she was instructed to.”

The last piece of the puzzle fell into place in Meera's mind, and a terrible foreboding came over her. “Your sister wasn't kidnapped, was she?” Meera asked, shocked to her core.

A pained, sad smile settled on Benjen's lips. “No, she wasn't. She ran away with him freely.” He paused before delivering his final admission. “And I helped her do it. Everything that followed – Brandon going to King's Landing; my father going to ransom him, after I told him everything; their execution; and everything that came after – all of it was because I didn't try hard enough to stop her!”  
He looked away from Meera. “When Ned returned to Winterfell after the war, I told him I was taking the Black and joining the Night's Watch. He was saddened, as he'd hoped I'd help him with raising Jon. Catelyn had taken an instant dislike to Jon because of what he represented as a bastard. But I couldn't. I think Ned understood, though. That I felt it was the only way to atone for what I'd helped cause.”  
Benjen looked back to Meera visibly ashamed. “Please, Bran can't know this,” he pleaded with her. “No-one else can know this.” Meera nodded her understanding and swore to Benjen Stark that no-one would ever find out from her what he'd told her that night.

They sat there in silence for a short time. Meera understood now what he'd meant about killing his family. She reached out and put her hand on Benjen's shoulder. “I'm sorry. For what happened and for lashing out at you earlier,” Meera sincerely apologised. He seemed genuinely touched by her gesture. Meera took her hand back and put it under her other arm. “Sorry,” she added, “my hand's pretty cold.”

Benjen held out his hands and jokingly said, “So are mine!” She giggled at that. It was creepy and yet seemed just ludicrous enough to be funny.

+++++++++++++

Benjen was glad to have broken the ice, so to speak, with Meera. He realised how uncomfortable she felt being around him. Meera was just settling down to sleep again, when he told her, “You and Bran should share your furs... you'll both be warmer that way.” She looked hesitant.

He looked at her in askance. Meera replied, “I don't want to hurt him by accident.”

Benjen smiled to himself. Aloud, he responded, “I've seen both of you sleep... you hardly move at all.” Whether Meera was fearful because she realised he would always be awake watching them, or whether she was frightened of Bran's possible reaction to waking up and finding her in his furs, Benjen couldn't tell. Then he realised. She loved Bran! But it was complicated.  After checking his nephew was still sleeping, Benjen asked, “Meera?” She turned to look at him again. “You care deeply about Bran, don't you?”

“Yes, of course! He's my lord, my prince, my... friend,” Meera replied practically instantly. _Seemingly almost rehearsed,_ Benjen thought. _I doubt she even realises it, though._ Yet, he'd also detected her slight hesitation at the end of her reply. Benjen had been correct, Meera did love Bran, but she had difficulty seeing herself as ever being his equal, even though she called him her friend. He resolved to speak to Bran on the morrow.

“Good night, my lady,” Benjen said to Meera.

 


	2. Day Two to Day Three

Bran awoke, as he had ever since he left the cave, to a jumble of images in his mind that he had difficulty resolving. It was almost like his brain held too many things to process. One thing he was certain of, though, he needed a weirwood tree at some point to make more sense of said things.

“Good morning, Bran,” his uncle greeted him.

“Mornin'uncle,” he slurred out sleepily. Bran noted that Meera was still asleep, which he found unusual.

Benjen seemed to understand what he was thinking. “She woke during the night, and we talked for a while,” Benjen told Bran, before offering him some leftover rabbit. While Bran ate it ravenously, Benjen continued, “Don't worry, I only reassured her I wasn't dangerous.”

Bran smiled at that. A little more awake now, he replied, “If you weren't my uncle and I didn't know you, I'd probably be apprehensive of you, too.” Bran tried to explain, but it came out harshly. “You do look rather scary now... sorry, that came out wrong,” he apologised.

But Benjen laughed in reply. It reminded Bran of how his uncle had been before. Before Bran had fallen. After a few moments of silence, Benjen spoke again. “Don't apologise, I know I look like one of them now... I know I terrify the poor girl.”

Bran felt the need to correct his uncle. “She's not a girl, she's a grown woman!” Again, he'd put his point across far too strongly. Bran's cheeks felt hot, and he turned his head away to hide his embarrassment at the outburst, hoping his uncle hadn't noticed. He seemed not to have, though.

Faintly smiling, Benjen replied, “And so she is... I meant her no disrespect, Bran.” Bran was relieved to hear that. His uncle continued. “Though you do need to be careful regarding Meera.”

Bran's temper flared. “What exactly do you mean by that?” he demanded to know.

Benjen pursed his lips and carefully answered. “Only that you need to stay focused on your training. You can't allow yourself to be distracted.”

Bran snorted, mildly disgusted. “You sound just like Jojen.” He was silent for a while, as saying his friend's name dredged up his guilt and shame about Jojen's death.

“Meera's brother was right,” his uncle replied. Pausing, Benjen added, “His death was neither your fault nor hers. I know you didn't want anyone to die for you, but he chose his path – they all did.”

Bran laughed, bitterly and without mirth. “Hodor didn't. It was wrong for me to warg him,” Bran spat in disgust. “It hurt him, and...” he choked on his confession, “and it was my fault what happened to him.” When Benjen said nothing, Bran elaborated. “In some of my visions, I saw Father and you as children, sparring in the yard at Winterfell. I saw Ser Rodrik...” Bran trailed off. The memory of Ser Rodrik's botched execution came, unwanted, to his mind.  
A single tear trickled down his face, which he angrily wiped away. “You know Theon cut off his head?” Benjen looked shocked. “Robb sent Theon to ask his father for ships, and instead he turned on us and took Winterfell with his Islanders. He swore to me he'd harm no one if I yielded, so I yielded. Then his men captured Ser Rodrik, and Theon hacked off his head right there in the yard. I saw it in a greendream beforehand. The sea coming to Winterfell and drowning men in the yard. I saw Ser Rodrik among them... I thought if I sent him to deal with Torrhen's Square when it was attacked, that I could save him, but it just made it happen.” Bran fell into a depressed silence.

Benjen consoled Bran, telling him softly, “The ink was already dry, Bran.”

“The Raven said the same, yet I still feel terrible about it,” Bran confessed.

Benjen smiled, knowingly. “You wouldn't be human if you didn't. Fate – and the gods – have determined what's gone before. The only thing you can do is fight for the future.”

Bran was still sad, but no longer morose. “Thank you, Uncle Benjen, for everything.” His uncle just nodded in acknowledgement. Meera woke soon after, and Bran was left feeling guilty about how useless he was when they broke camp. Benjen and Meera helped him onto the horse. It made him miss Dancer and riding her with his specially designed saddle. She was gone now too, along with so many other things in his life. He sighed.  
The young man was grateful for Meera being at his side while his uncle led the horse. He knew it was to make sure he didn't fall out of the saddle, but he didn't mind. Meera seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. Bran decided he needed to talk to her. “Did you sleep well, Meera?” he inquired. Meera glanced at Benjen. Bran thought he was keeping a polite distance out of respect.

+++++++++++++

“Well enough,” she lied. Meera regretted that choice immediately, and wouldn't meet his gaze. Bran eyed her quizzically; she could feel his eyes on her back. Bran's uncle was obviously leaving them some room to talk as they walked. Meera was ashamed to think she'd thought Benjen would betray her confidence. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I shouldn't have said that... the truth is, I didn't sleep well at all.”

Bran softly told her, “You don't need to apologise, I do.” She looked at Bran, confused. He smiled at her. It seemed to be a sad smile. “I put all our lives in danger at the cave, because I was impatient. My recklessness nearly killed everyone... I'm sorry.” He hung his head.

Meera touched his arm, realising how much of a chasm had formed between them because of their own personal sorrow and guilt. “Listen to me, Bran,” she commanded. He seemed surprised by her sudden intensity. She certainly was. Meera even surprised herself with what she said next. “We both have done things since we met that we regret. To ourselves, to each other, even to those we travelled with.”  
She thought of Jojen. “We need to forgive ourselves and each other...” Her eyes flicked toward Benjen briefly. “If we don't, our anger and guilt will crush us... and I would rather die than see that happen to you.” Meera went bright red and looked away when she realised what she'd said.

+++++++++++++

Meera's outburst had shocked Bran. He recognised the truth of her words, and suddenly it dawned on him that he'd been failing her continuously at the cave. How much it had hurt her that he hadn't noticed her pain. “Forgive me,” he begged. “At the cave, I should have taken better care of you. I was so caught up with the Raven, and visions, and my own failings and grief, that I failed to see how much Jojen's death affected you. Forgive me, for all the times I failed you.”

Meera turned her face back to him. “I do forgive you, Bran,” she told him sincerely. “Can you forgive me for all the times I lashed out at you in my anger and loneliness?”

“Of course!” Bran responded emphatically. “You're my friend, and we've been through so much together. Of course, I forgive you.” He would have put his hand on hers had he not needed both for the horse. There were times he wished he weren't so broken, and this was one of them. Bran longed to walk beside her, as he did in his dreams. To comfort her whenever she needed it, without the hindrance of his useless legs.  
Bran shook off those thoughts, surprised by their intensity. In that direction lay only anger and self-pity, and yet there was something else that nagged at his mind, something he couldn't quite pin down. Something to do with the young woman beside him. His closest friend, the girl with the long dark curls and eyes the colour of mud.

+++++++++++++

Benjen kept his distance, yet he heard every word. He smiled, even though Bran was ignoring the advice Benjen had given him that very morning. Because now he was convinced. They both loved the other, and discouraging them from speaking their minds to each other at this time could prove an even worse distraction for Bran. More so than the distraction their love for each other could cause.

“I'm going to drop back for a while,” he announced. “Check on some things. Call out if you need me.”

Meera and Bran both looked worried. Bran asked nervously, “Are we being followed?”

Benjen shook his head. “I doubt it, but I know a few tricks that'll help in that regard. If you call and I don't call back promptly, or if you sense the Walkers... don't hesitate. Ride for the Wall as hard as you can. Both of you!” He disappeared in the direction they'd come from. His work was slow, but it occupied him. Late afternoon, he found them again by their tracks. Meera and Bran seemed to be more at ease with each other when Benjen returned. He was pleased with that.  
“Tomorrow, you'll both ride while I scout,” he told them. Meera seemed about to object but then appeared to change her mind. “And tonight, we'll have no fire, so you'll be sharing those furs unless you want to freeze to death.” His gaze lingered briefly on Meera, who wisely just nodded. Bran didn't object either, and the matter was settled. They bedded down early so they could make an early start the next day.

+++++++++++++

Meera woke just before dawn. Groggily, she wondered how she'd come to sleep with her knife in her grip. She moved her hand so she could put the blade away. But Meera quickly realised that it wasn't her knife at all. After all, she'd had a brother, and she knew more or less how children were made. Even so, she was surprised Bran could still do that with his back broken. Meera pulled back her hand from his belly and rolled away from Bran slightly. For the meantime, she hoped it would subside and decided that tonight she'd sleep facing away from Bran.

+++++++++++++

When Bran woke just after dawn, he was glad he'd had Meera to keep him warm the previous night. He turned his head and saw she was still there. Bran thought that the way the sunlight fell on Meera's hair was beautiful. He moved his arms and folded them on top of his abdomen. That was when Bran noticed something was very wrong.  
“Uncle Benjen,” he whispered, loudly and urgently. In virtual silence, his uncle came quickly to his side. “I don't want to wake Meera up, but I think I need to make water. Can you carry me?”

Benjen nodded his agreement and helped Bran up with a small grunt. He looked Bran over, then wordlessly carried him a little away from the camp, before setting him down. Bran started to fumble around trying to undo his britches before Benjen cut him off. “Bran, I don't think you need to make water yet...”

Surprised, he looked up at Benjen. “How do you know?” he asked.

+++++++++++++

 _Well, this is awkward,_ Benjen thought, _and rather not something I thought ever to have to explain._ Benjen knelt down, so he and Bran were at roughly the same height. “What did your father tell you about becoming a man?” he asked. Bran looked confused. Benjen tried rephrasing the question. “Did your father ever explain to you about the differences between boys and men?”

Bran was still puzzled, and replied, “Not about anything to do with this.” He gestured at his britches with his hand.

Benjen felt terrible. He rubbed his beard nervously. “When boys become men their bodies change. We begin to get beards, and hair in other places like under our arms, and on the bottom of our bellies.”

His nephew seemed to understand. “So you're saying I'm growing into a man now?”

Benjen nodded. He could tell that his discomfort was showing on his face. “This is supposed to be something that a boy hears from his father, at the right time. I never expected to have to do this.”

Bran placed his hand on Benjen's arm. “And I doubt Father would have wanted someone other than him to tell me, but you are all I have now!” Benjen took that as encouragement.

He dived straight in. “Well, you see, one of the other things that happens is... um, well, your cock gets bigger, and um, sometimes it stands up like that...” Benjen trailed off in embarrassment and prayed to the gods Bran wouldn't ask any questions. But he did.

+++++++++++++

Bran took his uncle's information in, thinking it over for a little time. He was still curious, though. “Why does it do that?” he asked. Bran's uncle looked like he wanted to be doing anything other than answering Bran's questions, even fighting the White Walkers.

His uncle had closed his eyes and looked sorrowful. Finally, Benjen answered, his voice barely a whisper. “It means you should be capable of having children now, Bran.” 

Bran finally understood. “But I never will,” he stated, with a bitterness he couldn't mask.

Uncle Benjen nodded as he opened his eyes and looked at Bran again. “I'm sorry, Bran.” Poor Bran wasn't expecting worse news to be forthcoming. “You're unlikely to marry, either,” Benjen continued. “Most Lords would consider it an insult, to have you offered to their daughter if you'll never produce heirs.” Bran couldn't hold his tears back now. He cried, and his uncle embraced him. “I understand, Bran. What it's like, to know you'll never be with a woman...” Benjen faltered for a moment, then spoke again, “I chose this, though. You never did... and for what it's worth, I'm sorry for that.”

+++++++++++++

Meera felt incredibly guilty that she'd overheard at least part of Bran and Benjen's conversation. It hurt her to hear Bran's obvious pain as he cried, and Benjen's harsh, yet honest, depiction of reality. A cruel reality. A wife and a family were clearly something Bran had wanted. She quickly walked back to camp.

The young woman from the swamps realised what was bothering her, as she packed up the camp. She'd never thought about marriage and children of her own before. It hadn't really been something that had come up in conversation at home. _I should have seen it when he was with Rickon, how much he loved his family..._ she thought. _How could I not have realised he'd want one of his own someday?_ Suddenly, she wondered why this upset her so much. Yes, Bran was her friend, but this was really none of her business. He was also her prince.

+++++++++++++

When Bran regained his composure again, he requested his uncle return him to camp. Meera was up when they returned, and she'd finished packing everything away. Benjen looked up at the sky. “Change of plans, we're all riding today,” he said glancing at Bran and Meera, before looking back at the sky again. “There's a snowstorm coming.” Bran knew better than to question his uncle on things beyond the Wall. Meera seemed to realise that too. So they piled onto the poor horse, Bran sandwiched between Meera and Benjen. He doubted any of them were comfortable.  
They rode most of the day, hard at the beginning and then slower when Benjen believed they'd outrun the storm. Finally, they stopped before a large clearing. Meera dismounted first, then kept Bran steady as Benjen dismounted. Bran expected his uncle to let him down from the horse next. But instead, his uncle turned towards them, and warned, “Both of you stay with the horse, something isn't right here.” Benjen left them to take a look around.

Meera looked concerned, and Bran didn't like it any more than she did. Something was eerily familiar about this place. Meera suddenly looked at Bran, and Bran looked back at her. They had both recognised where they were – and they had every reason to be afraid!

+++++++++++++

Benjen returned not long after he'd left, but when he returned, Bran and Meera were white as sheets. “What's wrong? Did you see something?” he demanded. 

Meera sounded terrified when she answered, “We can't stay here... we won't!”

The former ranger couldn't understand what the problem was. “It's abandoned, and there's still a structure we can shelter in for the night... Why are you so afraid of the ruins of Craster's Keep?” he questioned. 

Howland's girl was shaking her head, and Ned's boy hugged her to the horse and himself. Softly he answered, “We've been here before, Uncle Benjen.” Meera began to sob uncontrollably. “We were here the night it burned.” Bran looked at her with concern. “It had been taken over by Night's Watch deserters.” Meera had stopped crying and was just shaking a little.

Benjen wasn't expecting this, nor Meera's reaction. “How did you escape?” he inquired, brow furrowed.

“They had us chained up in one of the smaller buildings,” Bran supplied, “I warged Hodor and broke his chains. Jon attacked with some Night's Watchmen, and we got away in the ensuing confusion. He must have burned it afterwards; we saw flames in the distance.” Benjen thought on this a while. Bran's explanation made sense of his reactions, but not Meera's. Unless...

“Oh gods! They didn't...” Benjen trailed off.

Bran looked him in the eye. “No, but they certainly tried to,” he replied. Benjen detected the edge in his nephew's voice. It was the same one Ned had when he was angry about something he couldn't change. “And they made the rest of us watch,” Bran spat in disgust.

Benjen thought some more. “This is the only shelter for many miles, and I know you both know that. If we must leave here, we should be on our way. However, I suspect you also realise the horse needs rest.”

Meera pulled away from Bran, and a look passed between them. She then turned to Benjen and declared, “We'll stay.” Benjen could tell that she'd made the decision in spite of her misgivings and he marvelled at the girl's seemingly boundless courage.

+++++++++++++

Every fibre in Meera's body screamed at her that she'd made a mistake. But she pushed forward. When she realised it was the same hut as before, Meera hesitated, but still, she pushed forward.

+++++++++++++

Bran watched Meera with concern. He'd noticed her falter when she saw where they were going. If he hadn't been holding onto the horse, Bran would have given Meera a reassuring hand on the shoulder. He regretted that he could not. While his uncle tied off the horse, Bran watched Meera. When his uncle took him from the horse, Bran watched Meera.  
She stood motionless at the threshold. Bran was just about to say her name when Meera sighed and went through the door. Benjen followed, carrying Bran. Meera looked like a trapped deer to Bran. He noticed their cut ropes and broken chains lying in the same places where they'd been left. Bran followed Meera's gaze to the angry looking meat-hook. He whispered to Benjen discreetly, “You need to take all the ropes and chains outside.” Bran quickly added, “The meat-hook too.”

Benjen seemed to understand. “Meera, can you help me with Bran please?” he gently asked. Bran was grateful to his uncle for distracting her. Meera and Benjen lowered him to the floor.

When Benjen rose, Meera did too. Bran grasped at the furs on Meera's leg, and pleaded, “Stay, please?” She relented and sat silently next to him as they watched Benjen take down all the reminders of their previous stay. While Benjen took the ropes and hooks and chains outside, Bran turned to Meera and asked, “Are you alright?”

She was staring at where Jojen had been tied up during their last stay. “No,” Meera stated honestly, without moving her head. When she finally did turn back to Bran, Meera told him, “But I think I will be.”

+++++++++++++

Meera was surprised at Bran's next question. “Do you want to share the furs again tonight?” he asked. It must have shown on her face, because Bran immediately went red, and spluttered, “Um, if you want to, I mean... it was warmer last night with you... I mean sharing was warmer than not sharing...”

She couldn't help but giggle and held up her hand to Bran's mouth to shush him. “I know what you meant,” she assured Bran, “and yes, I would... it's getting too cold now to sleep apart.” Bran smiled back at her.

+++++++++++++

Benjen waited until he was sure Meera and Bran had finished speaking to re-enter the hut. When he did so, Meera quickly excused herself, saying something about looking for a coney or two nearby. Benjen waited for a few more minutes after Meera left. Then he turned to Bran, and told him in a stern voice, “You shouldn't be inviting a woman to your bed, Nephew, even if your intentions are honourable. And a Lady, no less! What were you thinking?”

Bran looked down, as he turned bright red. He looked thoroughly chastised, and utterly ashamed. “I didn't think,” he admitted.

Benjen sighed and squatted in front of Bran so that they were eye-to-eye. He thought through what to say next very carefully. “Bran, how long have you been in love with her?”

+++++++++++++

Bran went wide-eyed, and stammered, “No... no, she's just my friend... I... I don't...” He trailed off. It finally dawned on him. “Oh gods! I do, don't I?” Bran acknowledged, blushing. “I don't know,” he admitted, in all honesty. “It must have just happened at some point.”  
He had no idea what to do now. Bran admitted as much to his uncle. “I need your advice, Uncle Benjen,” he confessed. “Please!”

+++++++++++++

Benjen had been afraid of this. He chose his words carefully. “You have few choices, I'm afraid, none of them good.” He sighed once more. “Do you remember what you said to me this morning? About wanting a family? What about if she wants a family? Could you live with denying it to her? I know you, Bran. It would destroy you! That's assuming she loves you back, which I'm fairly certain she does.”

Bran's head shot up. “Are you sure?” he asked nervously.

Benjen sighed again. “Yes,” he confirmed. “In a perfect world, her father would agree to the marriage as well. But, Bran, you must have realised by now, that Meera is the heir to Greywater Watch. She'll need to marry a husband who'll give her heirs. Howland would very likely grant you permission anyway, for the love he bears our family. But House Reed would die out... do you understand?”

Bran was deeply upset now, and Benjen took Bran's head in his hands and leant forward to kiss his forehead. When he pulled away, Benjen stood. But Bran wasn't finished yet. “It's cruel for the gods to make you want what you can never have!” he exclaimed angrily. “It's not fair!”

Benjen couldn't argue with that, so he didn't. He couldn't help Bran with his dilemma, either, so he left Bran to his thoughts. Benjen went outside to watch for Meera's return. This unfortunate turn of events had come at a very inopportune point in time.  
When Meera returned, she carried a brace of coneys. As she came closer, Benjen took her aside, and quietly mentioned to her, “We need to talk.” He glanced back at the door to the hut, and added, “Alone...”

+++++++++++++

Bran was alone a long time, so he decided to stretch his third eye. He concentrated, and he found an animal nearby. Warging into it, Bran felt like he was falling again. No, it wasn't falling, he realised. It was flying! Opening his eyes as a bird was an unusual experience, to say the least. He became aware that he was circling the keep.  
Landing, Bran-the-bird pecked at the dirt and ashes, looking for some morsel left behind. He was distracted by a tall black figure. _Uncle,_ a voice reminded him. Another figure in mottled furs joined him. _Meera,_ the voice cried out, _Meera, Meera!_ Bran-the-bird knew she was important somehow. So he followed them and perched in the tree above them. He heard them say his name, so he flew down between them and cawed.

“Hello, Bran,” said Uncle. Bran cawed again, at this black figure that smelled oddly like food. “No, Bran, I'm not food. Return to your own body, and we'll be there shortly.” Bran-the-bird cawed twice more and flew off.

Coming back to his own body was disorientating. Bran processed what he had seen. His uncle and Meera had been talking about him! He hoped it wasn't anything bad.

+++++++++++++

Meera was still coming to terms with the revelation that Bran had warged the bizarrely friendly crow when Benjen swore under his breath. It startled her again. “Sorry,” Benjen apologised distractedly, “I wasn't expecting him to do that yet.”

“Yet?” Meera asked in disbelief. “You mean you were expecting that, at some point?” She found it a rather disturbing notion.

“Yes, but he needs to be careful... He shouldn't have done that, not without one of us present,” Benjen replied. Meera recognised that did not bode well. Not at all. He then added, “I suppose we should be grateful he didn't try to warg the bloody horse.”

Meera thought of asking if that had actually been a legitimate option for Bran to warg into, but then she changed her mind. So she followed Benjen Stark back to the hut with her coneys.

+++++++++++++

Bran wasn't expecting his uncle to yell at him when they'd returned. But he had. Once Benjen explained the reason, though, Bran apologised. Meera skinned her quarry, and his uncle dug a fire pit outside to cook them in. Benjen drained the blood out of them first, then gave the blood to Bran to drink. He didn't particularly like the taste, but Bran understood why it was necessary for him to drink it.  
Uncle Benjen left Bran alone, but only after he'd promised he wouldn't warg again without supervision. His uncle seemed satisfied at that. After dinner, Bran was put into the furs, and Meera joined him soon after. She faced away from him this time, though. He briefly wondered what to make of that, before drifting off to sleep.

 


	3. Night Three to Night Four

Meera didn't sleep well at all. In her dreams, the memories became nightmares. She woke, screaming in terror. Shaking, she rolled over and burrowed close to Bran, silently crying. Almost immediately, Bran's strong arm enveloped her, pulling her closer.  
In the darkness, Meera heard Bran softly say, “Hey, hey, hey... come here.” She hugged Bran across the chest, and he cradled Meera's head with his other hand. Feeling safe in his embrace, she quickly fell back asleep.

+++++++++++++

Bran, on the other hand, lay awake, thinking. He felt his uncle watching him through the darkness, but he didn't care right now. Bran gently stroked Meera's hair and lightly kissed the top of her head, before he too fell asleep.

While Bran slept, he had a powerful vision. He was at the Wall, presumably Castle Black. Night's Watchmen stood in the courtyard. Suddenly, Bran saw his brother come out of one of the buildings and push his way through the crowd. As they parted, Bran saw the sign at the same time as Jon. 'TRAITOR' it read.  
One by one the Watchmen in the yard revealed daggers and plunged them into Jon's chest until the last one stood in front of Jon. His brother had sunk to his knees, and Bran heard the sadness in Jon's voice as he said the boy's name. The boy hesitated momentarily, before plunging his dagger into Jon's heart. Jon looked betrayed, yet so did the boy, and Bran noticed him crying as he turned away. The courtyard emptied, and Bran watched his brother bleed out into the snow.

Bran woke, drenched in sweat, calling his brother's name. Meera woke, startled, and hand still on his chest, asked, “What's wrong, Bran?” Bran was reassured slightly by her concern.

“I saw Jon,” he breathed heavily. “He was at Castle Black.” Bran's eyes looked to Uncle Benjen in abject horror. “They stabbed him... his Black Brothers stabbed him!” Bran shuddered. Meera was wide-eyed in shock. He continued, “When they were done, they left him to die, alone in the snow.” Bran began to weep.

+++++++++++++

Meera held Bran wordlessly and looked helplessly toward Benjen. He confirmed it was a true vision, not just a dream, with a sad face and a curt nod. She hugged Bran a bit tighter. He struggled to sit up, and Meera helped him.

As Bran stared at the floor, he softly said, “Every time I have a vision, it always seems to turn out terrible... except when I was at the Raven's cave.” He paused. “I've seen my father die, my mother die, and both my elder brothers die now. I saw the rebellion too... and it was horrific.” Bran looked up at Meera. “I saw Ser Arthur Dayne slash your father with his sword, and leave him to die, at a tower in the wilderness. He survived, though, somehow – and yet Ser Arthur perished.”  
Meera knew there was something he wasn't telling her, something about the vision of her father and the 'Sword of the Morning'. But she didn't press Bran. He would tell her if and when he was ready to.

Benjen spoke next. “Robb? And Cat too?” he said, full of sorrow. Bran looked pained and nodded at his uncle. “How?” Benjen demanded.

Bran swallowed. “They were betrayed. At a wedding feast, no less. The groom reminded me of Mother, just much younger, and he wore the Tully trout as his cloak clasp.”

The elder Stark told him who he'd seen. “That was your uncle, Edmure; your mother's brother.”

Her friend nodded, almost as if he'd suspected that was who it had been all along. “That explains why she looked so happy during the feast. There was an older man, seated to Mother's left, who also wore the Tully sigil. But it wasn't the typical silver of House Tully; it was a much darker shade of grey, possibly even black.”

Meera was fascinated by Benjen's answer to who the man was. “Your mother's uncle, Brynden, that they call the 'Blackfish'... your Lord Grandfather Hoster's only brother.” Meera had expected it to be Bran's grandfather, not his great-uncle.

She hesitantly asked, “What of your grandfather? Was he there?”

Bran looked even sadder. “No, he died of a fever... not long before you and Jojen found us, I believe. I saw Robb deliver Mother the news of her father's death... and of Winterfell being razed by the Ironborn. The news, that Rickon and I weren't found, gave Robb hope. I saw later it had taken Mother's hope, though. She despaired that Robb was her only free and living child.”  
Meera silently put her arm around Bran's shoulder. He continued, “I saw a castle built in the middle of a fork in a river, which I presumed to be Riverrun. Outside, in the river, Robb and Uncle Brynden pushed a boat with a dead man, draped in the Tully banner, in it. Then Uncle Edmure fired burning arrows at it. Mother looked quite sombre. There was a young woman standing beside her that I didn't recognise, but later, at the wedding feast, I saw her seated beside Robb and big with child. Robb must have taken her to wife while he was on campaign, I guess.”  
Bran sighed and began again. “At the high table, an ancient man sat in an ornate chair, carved to resemble a pair of towers connected by a bridge. Like the castle itself; a bridge across a river between two keeps.”

“The Twins!” Meera interjected, spitting the name like it was bile. “The seat of House Frey.” Bran saw her anger and was dismayed by it. He'd never seen Meera this angry before. “House Frey has antagonised the Crannogmen of the Neck since the day they started building their first ugly bridge across the Trident 600 years ago,” she explained, seeing Bran's reaction. “Harren the Black even encouraged them to attack us before Aegon's Conquest. They still steal from us occasionally. Most of them don't, though, but that's only because they superstitiously believe us to be demons, or practitioners of witchcraft, or other such nonsense.”

“You must be referring to Lord Walder Frey, Bran...” Uncle Benjen stated, more calmly than he had any right to be. “I'd have expected the old goat to be dead by now.”

+++++++++++++

It was Bran's turn to be angry. “I wish he were dead!” he declared, pulling away from Meera violently.

Surprised and shocked by his reaction, Meera gingerly replied, “Surely you don't mean that, Bran...” She was incredulous, yet her words were spoken gently. Meera reached out to touch Bran's shoulder. He angrily shrugged off her hand. Stunned, she abruptly ceased speaking and retreated slightly.

Bran glared at Meera and seethingly replied to her, “Not only did he murder my family, he did it by breaking guest right!” He shook with rage. “He broke bread with them and gave them salt, he married his daughter to my uncle. Then after the bedding ceremony, his sons and lackeys murdered nearly all the non-Frey Lords and Ladies still present. The minstrels played a tune to signal the start of the massacre.”  
Wiping away a tear, Bran continued, “Mother seemed to recognise the song, and I saw her fear. Lord Frey held up his hand and said something about not giving Robb a wedding present. For some reason, my mother must have realised what was going to happen. She slapped a man wearing the flayed man of House Bolton, who ran from her as she called Robb's name.”  
Bran stopped, trying to compose himself. His voice trembled as he resumed speaking. “Robb turned around just in time to see his wife repeatedly stabbed in her pregnant belly.” Meera let out a strangled cry of shock and covered her mouth in horror. He looked at Meera with pity now, because there was worse to come. “As that happened, several of the musicians pulled out crossbows and put most their quarrels into Robb. He fell, and my mother took stray bolts in the back and leg. She fell too." Bran choked a little as he went on.  
“Outside, I could hear Grey Wind howling in grief. I briefly thought I saw Arya near him, but that made no sense. Frey men with crossbows shot Grey Wind through the bars of the cage they held him in. He whimpered as the life drained out of him. Inside, my mother had crawled under a table. Robb tried to stand, but he kept falling down. Lord Frey held up his hand again to stop the slaughter. Even as Robb dragged himself over to his wife's lifeless body, Lord Frey mocked him. Robb held her bloody corpse in his arms and embraced her one last time, and still, Lord Frey mocked him.”

Bran was shamed by what he'd seen next. “Mother seized Lord Frey's wife, a girl not much older than Sansa, and threatened to open the girl's throat with the knife she had in hand unless Lord Frey released Robb.” Meera's eyes were wider now than he'd ever seen them. “She pleaded with Robb to leave, but when he stood and faced her – that moment, I saw what she saw.” Bran stared at nothing in particular. “Robb had lost everything he thought he had left... he'd given up. Lord Bolton used that moment to plunge a dagger into Robb's heart. He fell to his knees in front of our mother, then slumped to the floor as he bled out. My mother screamed... a blood-curdling scream of grief and rage and loss. Her body lived, but she was dead inside.”  
He swallowed, his mouth as dry as a desert. “She slit Lady Frey's throat, never taking her eyes off of Robb. And she just stood there, staring at his lifeless body, until one of the Frey's slit her throat to the bone.” Everyone was silent for a while afterwards. Bran was thankful for that. He decided to mention the end of what he'd seen. “After they'd murdered them, the Freys threw my mother's body in the river, as a mockery of Tully burial customs. And my brother... they cut my brother's head off, and his dire-wolf's head too.” Bran started to sob uncontrollably, but he managed to choke out, “They sewed Grey Wind's head onto Robb's body and paraded his mutilated body around, mocking him as 'The King in the North'...”

+++++++++++++

Meera couldn't speak, and could hardly process what Bran had told them. She wished she could say something – anything – to help Bran but all words failed her. Bran rested his head against Meera's shoulder, finally seeking comfort from her, and she embraced him tightly with one arm while cradling his head with the other. Meera looked to Benjen, for she had absolutely no idea what else to do for Bran. He looked somewhat distressed too.  
The quivering that accompanied Bran's sobs gradually subsided. Meera was afraid to let go of him in this state. But soon she realised that he'd fallen asleep in her arms. Still, she held him. Meera watched Bran for a while, before realising that, even though the cause of this embrace was upsetting, she was glad that it had happened. _Oh gods!_ _I do love Bran..._ came the revelation. She flushed bright red, and whispered, “But I can't...”  
Meera Reed quietly shed some tears of her own, as she held the man she loved in her arms... the man that fate, and the gods, had determined she could never have.

+++++++++++++

Benjen was deeply upset by what Bran had told him. He understood now part of Maester Aemon's anguish over the destruction of his House. The difference was Benjen couldn't go south, even if he wished to. He heard Meera's sad whisper and her nearly silent crying. Benjen wanted to comfort her, yet knew he could not.

–––––––––––––-------

The sun seemed to rise late in the day. When Benjen stood and went to look out the door, he saw the reason. They'd need to stay here another day at least. Benjen saw Meera watching him and saw her sigh. She understood they weren't going anywhere as well as he did. Benjen left the pair to hunt close by. Meera bid him a quiet farewell, so as not to disturb Bran.

Benjen was left alone with his thoughts. Now they both realised their own feelings towards each other, it was likely not to be much longer before they realised the other had feelings for them too. _Gods, what have I ridden into?_ he thought. _This was supposed to be Ned's job..._  
Bran wasn't meant to be the problematic boy, either. Benjen had seen him as a miniature Ned, not a miniature Brandon, despite his name. The Night's Watchman shook his head. Ned's Bran might break women's hearts, but he'd never dishonour any of them, unlike his namesake. Benjen's brother Brandon had been much like King Robert in that respect, taking any woman that would let him.  
Frankly, he was surprised at not having bastard nephews and nieces all over the Seven Kingdoms. Benjen was glad all the same, he wouldn't have liked them to endure what Jon had to. Or worse, be orphaned bastards with no knowledge of their family. Once again, Benjen wished he could weep. It was cruel, Jon being dead. Now he would never learn the truth about his mother. Or his father.

+++++++++++++

When Bran woke, he realised Meera was still holding him. “Meera?” he asked weakly, unsure if she'd answer him.

She loosened her grip slightly and asked in response, “Yes, Bran?”

He looked up at her, uncertain what to say. “You know...” he started, before losing his nerve entirely. Bran looked away again. “You know you can let me go now, right?” Meera let out what sounded to Bran like a sigh. _My mind must be playing tricks on me now._ So much was in his head these days, that he wouldn't be surprised by that.  
“You were right before,” he admitted once Meera had propped him up to sit against a wall. She sat down beside him, back to the wall as well. “About Lord Frey, I mean. I'm angry at him, and I hate him, but I don't think I really want him dead. I don't ever want to become truly vengeful...”

Meera rested a hand on his arm and turned towards him. Bran couldn't help but like the way she touched him. “I know you don't, Bran. Truly, I do,” she assured her friend, leaning in nearer to him as she did. “You're a good person, and I...” Bran was distracted by how close Meera's lips were to his own. She seemed to realise her proximity and pulled away. “I think you'll do great things,” Meera hurriedly finished off saying.

+++++++++++++

Meera had to bite her tongue, or else she might actually say something stupid next time. Like the 'I love you' that she'd nearly said. Being so close to Bran's lips had been torture. She didn't want to ruin their friendship, though. After she had told him they weren't going anywhere that day, Bran had informed Meera he was going to try out his powers some more.  
So she watched over Bran's body, as he did whatever it was he was actually doing. Jojen's greendreams had been enigmatic, but Bran's powers were on a whole other plane entirely. Sometimes, the thought of just how powerful Bran could end up being scared Meera. Yet still, she watched over him.

Benjen returned empty-handed a few hours after he left. He noted what Bran was doing, then asked Meera, “How long's he been gone?”

“An hour, maybe two,” she responded. Benjen looked unconcerned but told her to try rousing Bran anyway. So, Meera tried saying just his name softly, and to her great surprise, Bran came back to himself immediately.

“Yes?” he asked, before coughing. “Ungh, thirsty...” Bran added weakly. Benjen produced a waterskin from under his cloak. Bran took several sips, before handing it to Meera. She sniffed it, decided it was actually water, and drank some herself.

Benjen told them, “You can go back now, I just needed to make sure you drank something other than rabbit blood for once.” As he left the hut, he seemed to chuckle softly to himself.

Meera looked at Bran quizzically. “Was your uncle always this oddly humoured?”

Bran laughed, and she noted how similar it was to his uncle's laugh. “I suppose he was, but only when he was around family and people he liked.” Apologetically, he added, “You can finish the conversation you were having with Uncle Benjen if you like. I didn't mean to intrude yesterday.”

Meera wondered how much he'd heard, but figured that if Bran had heard anything important, he'd have mentioned it by now. She watched as he transitioned, eyes rolling back into his head. It still was disconcerting to see, just less so than it had been previously. Meera watched Bran for a few minutes longer before she left the hut. At the door, Meera looked back at Bran, and a wave of sadness came over her.  
Shaking her head, Meera left to find Bran's uncle. It didn't take her long at all. She found him loitering in the burned-out ruins of the keep. Wordlessly, Benjen acknowledged her arrival with a nod. Meera's response was quite subdued.  
“We need to talk...” she spoke quietly. Her eyes surveyed the remnants of ashen wood and twisted metal that had once been a dwelling. She knew she had to be away from here, at least temporarily. “... but not here,” Meera finished, hoping Benjen would read between the lines.

Enigmatically, Benjen replied, “I thought you might.”

They walked in silence for a while. Meera thought carefully about what she was going to say. She decided to lead off with something innocuous. “I was thinking before, and... I'm not exactly sure how to refer to you. I know 'my lord' is wrong, as you renounced the title of Lord Benjen when you took the Black, but I don't know what else would be appropriate.”

Benjen laughed. Meera had deduced that this was his regular happy laugh. “I don't really miss being called Lord Benjen, to be honest,” he confided to her. “At Castle Black, they called me First Ranger. At Winterfell, they called me Uncle and Brother. Here, you can just plain call me Benjen.” He laughed again at the look she'd inadvertently given him. “Your face tells me you'd find that uncomfortable. Don't worry, my lady; I know how hard it is to break a lifetime of habit, but you've already done it with Bran.”

Meera thought on that and realised that Bran's uncle was correct. Already, the lines had blurred in her mind between Bran as a lord and prince, and Bran as her friend. “If I'm to call you Benjen,” she replied, “then I have to insist you call me by my name as well... my father may be a lord, but I've never been a true lady.”

“Truth be told, I'm glad for that,” Benjen confided. “Bran would have no use for what you call a 'true' lady up here. North of the Wall, if you can't protect yourself, oftentimes you die. Many a wildling woman takes up arms as a necessity. The ones who fight alongside their menfolk proper, they're fearsome indeed. Call themselves 'spearwives' – married to their weapons. Well, figuratively anyway.”

Meera found the concept fascinating. “When I met Bran for the first time, a wildling woman was travelling with them,” she told Benjen. “When my brother approached Bran, Osha snuck up behind Jojen and threatened him with a spear to the back of his neck. So, I snuck up on her and pulled my knife on her throat. I suppose she was likely one of these 'spearwives' you spoke of.”  
The recollection made Meera sigh. “She hated me for pulling my knife on her, and she was jealous of the time Jojen spent with Bran explaining what was happening to him. But I could see that Osha cared for him, and wanted to protect him something fierce. Bran sent her off with Rickon, to protect them both. Before she left, she made us swear to protect Bran because 'he meant the world to her'.”

Benjen looked bemused. “Aren't very many wildlings that make it past the Wall. Most are quite desperate. Do you know how she came to meet Bran?” Meera shook her head. Bran had never shared that story with her. “I'll ask him, at some point. I suspect it will be an interesting tale.” Meera suspected so too and murmured an agreeable noise in concurrence with Bran's uncle. His next question took her by surprise. “And what of you, Meera Reed? I know you've not yet told me your true reason for speaking with me...”

Meera looked straight ahead as they walked, purposely avoiding looking at Benjen. Bran's uncle was terribly perceptive. “Yesterday morning, when I woke and realised the two of you had left camp, I went looking for you both.” She hesitated briefly. “I overheard you two talking.”

“I see.” Benjen's body language and curt response told Meera he wanted her to talk more.

“I feel awful for intruding on a private moment,” she confessed guiltily. “But it hurt to hear Bran's pain, though. I hadn't realised he'd even thought about having a family of his own someday. Not until after I heard him say it. I should have realised, though. From the way he took care of Rickon – it should have been obvious...” Meera hesitated, trying to find the right words to convey what she was feeling. “I just feel terrible for him, to have his dreams crushed yet again, Benjen.”

+++++++++++++

 _So that was what Meera wanted to talk about._ “The gods and fate have indeed given Bran a cruel road to travel,” Benjen agreed. “However, sometimes, following that path leads to greater things – things that couldn't have been achieved otherwise. I know that is small comfort, though.” 

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Meera spoke again. “He deserves to be allowed to marry at least, even if it's only for companionship. He doesn't deserve to be all alone.” She struggled in speaking her next words. “I know it's none of my business. But he's my friend, and I...” Meera broke off abruptly and turned her head aside so he couldn't see her face. She clearly wasn't ready to admit it yet.

But Benjen knew what she'd meant. “But you love him.”

+++++++++++++

Uncertainly Meera's eyes flicked over to Benjen. She then dropped her gaze again, nodding sadly. Bran's uncle sighed. “I understand. I was young once, too.” She doubted he did, but all the same, Meera wisely kept her mouth shut. Benjen added, “He loves you, too, you know.” That revelation equal parts surprised her and excited her.  
Benjen brought her back to reality. “It will be hard for both of you, but you know this can't go any further, and so does he.” He sighed again. “I wish it were otherwise. Truly, I do.” Meera nodded, knowing in her heart Benjen spoke honestly.

Now it was her turn to sigh. “I wish Jojen were here,” she confessed. “He always knew just what to say.” Meera wiped away a tear with her sleeve. “I miss him terribly.” They walked in silence some more. “It's getting late. We should head back and check on Bran,” she suggested. Benjen agreed with a grunt.

+++++++++++++

As they returned to the hut, Benjen provided Meera with one last piece of counsel. “This is a dangerous time for Bran, and he must be distracted as little as possible. I cannot separate the two of you, as he needs you to protect him. Anyway, at this point, I fear it would be counter-productive if I tried. Guard your heart, Meera, and do whatever you must do to discourage this from going further than it already has.” _She seems to be taking this quite well,_ Benjen thought.

“I am trying, but often it's a real struggle,” Meera replied. For a time, she seemed to be deep in thought. “These feelings can be so... intense,” Meera eventually admitted. “Sometimes, I wish we could spend some time apart. But then I think that's probably just as selfish as staying for the wrong reason.” Benjen was surprised that someone so young could be so wise. But then he remembered Meera's father at roughly the same age.

+++++++++++++

Bran heard Meera calling for him from outside the vision. He left it and came back to his body. The disorientation was less pronounced this time, and he recovered quickly. Meera was holding onto his shoulder and looking at him. Bran smiled as he greeted her hello. “Was I gone long?” he continued.

Meera smiled in return. She took her hand back, and mentioned, “We thought you might be hungry.” Bran noticed his uncle lurking behind her. The Night's Watchman gave him a look. He didn't know why, but it seemed like a warning to him. It made Bran feel naked. They ate in silence, then turned in for the night. Uncle Benjen brought the horse inside this time, grooming the horse and rubbing it down after it was fed. It bedded down on the opposite side of the hut, next to Bran's uncle as he kept watch.

Bran felt exhausted, even though he'd not really done much that day. He slipped off to sleep quickly. Bran had a greendream that night. He dreamt of a castle like none he'd ever heard of. A castle that seemed part island and part stone. An island that moved through oddly wet trees. He walked around, seemingly drawn to something. Bran immediately knew he'd found what he'd sought when he walked into a small godswood with a proud weirwood tree at its centre.  
The young greenseer recognised the man who sat under the heart-tree. He was older than Bran remembered and had two small children with him; a dark-haired girl who was seemingly enthralled as the man spoke, and a blond lad who squirmed as if he wanted to be running about instead of sitting and listening. “Lord Reed,” Bran gasped in surprise.

“Yes, Bran.” He whirled around to see who had called his name. Bran froze as he saw a ghost, mouth agape. “And that's Meera and I when we were small children,” Jojen continued. The spectre seemed to notice something about Bran. “You're older... and you've cut your hair,” he stated. Without consciously realising it, Bran reached up and ran a hand through his hair. The apparition of Jojen smiled broadly. “I see it; you're the Three-Eyed Raven now.”

It took Bran a little time to recover his wits after his original shock. “Yes,” he responded weakly, wondering how this was even possible. Jojen flashed him another quick smile. Bran remembered that particular smile fondly. The young Crannogman's eyes were bright, twinkling with mirth and a hint of mystery, just as they'd done the day the two had met.  
Bran was reminded of the nearly identical smile that Meera had. Only her smile was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. The memory warmed his heart. He recalled that it had been such a long time since he'd seen either of them wearing that smile. _None of us has really had much reason to smile in a long time,_ Bran recalled sadly.

Jojen's phantom spoke again. “Don't be afraid, Bran. This is the first time you've visited my dreams, but it's not the last.” He paused. Bran sensed that his friend's hesitation was born out of a desire to not hurt him emotionally. “I know for you I'm already dead,” Jojen went on, “but for me, we haven't reached the cave yet.” His concern for Bran's feelings was painfully evident on his face as he spoke.

His head hurt as he mulled over what Jojen had told him. “I'm talking to you, in the past?” he asked, not quite believing the revelation in spite of everything he'd seen thus far. A myriad of questions swirled around Bran's head. It seemed that was destined to be a common occurrence, for the time being at least.

“I know it sounds fantastic, but it's true,” Jojen reassured him. “You told me long ago that you can only reach through time in this manner in places we shared intense emotions.”

He felt awkward. “Intense emotions, huh? Um, I suppose you could say that...” Bran admitted vaguely, rubbing his hand against his forehead nervously.

Jojen thought for a moment. “The little keep with the Night's Watch deserters?” he asked tentatively.

Bran was shocked at how quickly Jojen had reached his conclusion. “How did you know?” he demanded to know of his friend.

The other youth looked at him strangely, one eyebrow raised. “They were going to rape my sister in front of us, Bran...” It felt as though his friend was peering into the depths of his soul with his eyes as he spoke and Bran immediately felt very unsettled. “You seemed to be experiencing rather strong feelings at the time, too.”

His friend's admonishment came off as slightly condescending, but Bran was too distracted by his current intense feelings to notice. “You stalled them long enough, though,” he deflected. His cheeks burned red with embarrassment, and he broke eye contact. As such, Bran missed Jojen roll his eyes in exasperation.

“I'm not as obtuse as either you or Meera, Bran,” the young Crannogman chastised him, turning his eyes to the vision of his sister as a young girl. “I'm not blind, either. I know what will happen after I'm gone – if you let it...” Meera's brother trailed off, leaving the implication hanging between them.

Bran's eyes whipped back to his friend. Surprise and horror mingled on his face. He didn't think it possible, but his cheeks now burned even hotter than before. “W...wha...” he started to stammer.

Jojen turned to him without quite meeting his eyes and put his finger to Bran's lips. “I need to show you something... Come,” he commanded. Bran noted a subtle change in his companion's demeanour as he followed Jojen. A hint of sadness tinged his countenance now, mingled with a trace of pain and a note of regret. It made Bran curious, but he felt that maybe he shouldn't ask about it right now.  
Meera's brother led Bran closer to where his family were seated under the tree, before sitting and silently indicating with a flourish of a hand that Bran should join him. So Bran sat next to Jojen and waited expectantly. He answered Bran's unspoken question with a single word. “Watch.”

So the two friends sat in silence and watched for a time as history replayed before them. Bran found that as he watched, he gained new insights into all three of the Reeds. Jojen, it appeared, had been very different as a young child. He was surprised at how little attention the boy was paying his father, given what Jojen had told Bran on their travels of his love for stories. This little boy seemed to care more for mischief-making than stories and had a far greater vitality than Bran had ever seen Jojen possess in life. It reminded him of both Arya and Rickon.  
Young Meera, on the other hand, seemed very tame in comparison to the Meera that Bran was familiar with. She didn't appear to have developed any of the fierceness yet that he had occasionally seen her display, but her deep love for her family was self-evident to Bran. Especially towards her father. Meera almost seemed to worship Howland, and she hung on every word as he spoke, transfixed.  
Watching Howland himself, Bran found he had conflicting emotions. He'd seen Lord Reed's actions during Robert's Rebellion. They'd shocked Bran. Yet, here with his family, Howland Reed seemed a different man entirely. Here, Bran could see the man his father had loved and respected. But not the man Eddard Stark owed his life to. He couldn't reconcile the two as hard as he tried.  
Bran looked briefly at the Jojen he was sharing the greendream with, then back to his friend's father. He wondered if Meera's brother had seen the vision of the tower in the desert. Then Bran remembered Jojen telling him on the road about greenseeing. About how Jojen had seen the Rebellion, seen their fathers fighting together. Bran also remembered the story of Lord Reed weeping when his son had told him of his greendream about Ned Stark's death.  
Finally, Bran recalled that Jojen evaded further questions about what else he'd seen. Guiltily, Bran snuck another look at his friend and made the decision not to ask. If Jojen had not, it would just bring trouble. If he had, it would only cause pain to remind him. Ultimately, Bran didn't get much more time to ruminate on that line of thinking or the family dynamic.

Howland Reed appeared to have been convinced by Meera to tell the children another story when the most beautiful woman Bran had ever seen came into the godswood. She looked similar to Meera, but her hair was Jojen's sandy brown colouring. Bran inhaled sharply, at both the woman's beauty and the realisation of who she was. “Yes, Bran, that's our mother,” Jojen confirmed, faintly smiling again in amusement, “but we're watching Meera and I... Come.” He got up, and Bran followed him.

While their parents were distracted, the younger Jojen had wandered off into the godswood, and Meera had run after him. Bran and the elder Jojen followed slightly behind. His insatiable curiosity got the better of him, and Bran inquired, “How old are the two of you?”

Jojen thought for a few moments. “Meera would have been six, possibly seven; I would only have been about four or five,” he replied uncertainly. Jojen shrugged. “I don't remember exactly.” Young Jojen was running away from his sister now and making a game of it, while Meera was pleading with him not to run so far. “You need to watch now,” he commanded. As Jojen finished speaking, Bran realised they were now outside the walls. Odd vegetation he had never seen before grew there among the wet trees, with what Bran could only describe as pools of mud and water dotted between them.  
He saw young Jojen slip on the bank and fall into the muddy waters. Meera screamed out his name and ran towards where he'd fallen. She stopped short, looking terrified. Jojen hadn't resurfaced, so she yelled for her mother and father. Meera looked again where Jojen had gone in, and carefully entered the brackish water. She went under. Bran counted silently.

Meera soon surfaced, but without Jojen. She dived under again. The next time Meera came up she held her brother above the water, but he was thrashing about and fighting her. They went under again. Next time, only Jojen came up, but he was still struggling. Howland Reed appeared and saw his son struggling to stay afloat above the dirty-looking waters.  
Meera's head popped up quickly, then disappeared again, before Jojen went under again too. Their father braced himself by grabbing onto a solid-looking root, and when the boy came up thrashing once more, Howland seized him by his shirtfront. Slowly, Howland Reed wrested his son from the mud, and Meera managed to stay up above the mud now Jojen wasn't pulling her down.  
Bran could see she was tiring, though. Howland finally got his son out of the mud with a slurping sound and hoisted him up onto the bank. Turning back, Howland stretched out to his daughter, brushing his fingertips against hers, but she went under again. He was up to his neck now, the root bending as he pulled against it, and suddenly Meera came up again.

The young man saw what must have been Howland's hand clinging to his daughter's shirt. He eased Meera out, the same as he had for Jojen, then slowly pulled himself out. Howland then noticed that Meera was shaking Jojen. Others had gathered by then, and Howland pushed Meera aside from her brother. He listened to Jojen's chest, then pressed on it a few times with his hands. Lord Reed was about to do it again when the boy seemed to cough up half the swamp. Picking Jojen up in his arms, Howland carried him inside, while Meera's mother comforted her.

Bran took this all in silently. His companion stepped toward the bank of what he now realised to be a single area of water in a vast sea of interconnected channels and pools, broken only by scattered flora. “I would have drowned that day, you know,” Jojen stated. “If Meera hadn't jumped in after me when she did...” He left the conclusion for Bran to make.  
“All those times you saw me come up and not her, she was holding me up.” The young Crannogman knelt by the edge of the muddy pool he'd nearly drowned in. He turned to look up at Bran. “Of course, I was terrified, and didn't understand what was happening, so I fought her.” Jojen looked back to the mud and water and vegetation, surveying the morass as he spoke. “But still, she held me. Meera would have died to protect me then, just as she does now. Just as she will in order to protect you too, Bran, once I'm gone.”  
Bran didn't know what to say. His friend stood up and continued speaking. “As it was, I got swamp fever from the water I swallowed. I nearly died again. While I recovered, the Three-Eyed Raven started to visit my dreams, and I soon discovered that they were different, often coming true. It scared me at first.” Meera's brother met his eyes and Bran saw the truth there, realising that Jojen had been just as afraid as he had in the beginning.  
“As time went by, though, I realised it was a gift,” his friend continued. “There's only one problem with getting swamp fever – if you survive, that is. You never completely recover. That's part of the reason why my visions hit me so hard.”

Bran was shocked by this revelation. “I had no idea.”

Jojen smiled at him, the smile that Bran had come to know meant Jojen was wryly amused. “Of course you didn't,” he told Bran with a soft chuckle. “It's something that Meera and I never discuss, not even amongst ourselves. In fact, I only know what happened that day because I saw a vision of it, same as you. She blames herself. I suspect it's not the only thing she blames herself for that was beyond her control.”

“We've actually discussed blaming ourselves unnecessarily since we left the cave,” Bran admitted. He laughed humourlessly. “We were both blaming ourselves for your death actually.”

The other young man thought on that. “Meera doesn't handle it well then, I take it?” he asked, concerned for his sister.

Bran contemplated telling Jojen the whole truth, but instead only confirmed the answer to his question. He shook his head. “No,” Bran admitted regretfully. “No, she did not... and I was too busy to notice.” He hung his head in shame.

“We don't have much longer, Bran, so I need to say some things to you,” Jojen began tentatively. “I know your uncle is travelling with you now, taking you to the Wall. While you're with him, do everything he says. After he's left you – and he will have to leave you at some point – you have to be ready to take up your mantle as the Three-Eyed Raven. Or else, all will be lost.”  
He paused briefly, then spoke again. “Lastly, Bran, my sister... she needs to protect you. You need to allow her to protect you. Meera will never be able to truly live without someone she can help. I mean no offence Bran, but you are like a flame to her and she the proverbial moth. You'll always need help... and she will always want to give it to you. It's her nature, she can't help it.”  
Jojen took his hands and placed them on Bran's shoulders. He looked intensely into Bran's eyes. “When your uncle leaves you, let whatever happens with my sister, happen.” Bran's eyes widened as he realised the implication of Jojen's words. His friend smiled encouragingly and nodded in answer to the unspoken question. He had indeed correctly understood what Jojen meant. “Take care of her, Brandon. When the War for the Dawn comes, you might both die. But before you die, you owe it to each other, and yourselves, to live.” Jojen seemed to start fading. “Live, Bran!” was the last thing Bran heard him say.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some foreshadowing in this chapter and some deliberate distraction/obfuscation by dream Jojen.  
> Leave your theory in the comments and I might tell you if you're right...  
> *insert evil laugh here* >:D
> 
> Or just leave a comment in general, if you want... 
> 
> PS: Your feedback sustains me (think blood to a vampire).


	4. Day Five to Day Six

Bran woke. He rubbed his eyes, as the morning light hit them. The details of the vision didn't fade, which in itself meant that it had been a particularly strong one. Meera had already woken and gotten up, leaving him alone in the furs. Bran was partly glad for that. He suspected that he needed some time and space to process what he'd seen. Only then would he talk to Meera about it.  
It was then that Bran noticed his uncle and the horse were no longer inside the hut. When Meera offered him some coney, he thanked her, then asked, “Where's Uncle Benjen?”

Meera replied, “He said something about letting the horse stretch its legs a little.” She smiled. “He should be back any minute now.” Bran watched her as she continued making ready to leave. He grew fearful all of a sudden. Jojen had known about his feelings towards Meera before he had known himself. Was he that easy to read? Jojen had also implied that he knew his sister felt the same for Bran. Had she herself realised? But what frightened Bran the most was that Jojen had given them his blessing to... no, he refused to think on that. It wasn't Jojen's permission to give. He abruptly pushed those thoughts aside.

Impulsively, Bran decided he couldn't wait until his uncle returned. He had to know if it really had been a vision and he needed to know now. Bran got Meera's attention and tried not to let his nerves show. “Can you tell me about the Neck?” he asked cautiously, not wanting to reveal his reasons for asking yet.

She eyed him oddly for a moment, before answering his question with another question, “What do you want to know about it?”

Bran fidgeted uncomfortably, playing with the furs. “Well, the trees...” he stammered, “the trees aren't like the trees of the Wolfswood or the trees here, are they?”

Meera smiled wistfully as she thought of home. “No, they're not,” she admitted. “Even with the snow, these trees are so... dry. Neither of us had seen trees like this before we left the Neck. Well, not in person; Jojen had seen them in his greendreams, of course. Our trees grow as tall as these, just most of the tree isn't necessarily above the water...” His friend stopped abruptly. Her smile became almost taunting and, with what Bran perceived as suspicion, she asked him, “Why the sudden interest in my trees, Brandon Stark?”

Uncle Benjen chose that exact moment to come inside. He looked at his nephew wordlessly, and then to Meera. Bran went as red as a beet. “No reason,” he mumbled in the direction of his feet. The memory of his mother telling him that he always looked at his feet before he lied came to his mind unbidden. Bran's ears were burning hot now, in addition to his face. Whilst his uncle's visits to Winterfell had been few and far between, it occurred to Bran that he had far too little information regarding what his parents and uncle might have discussed. The possibility certainly existed that Uncle Benjen could know that was his tell...

The man of the Night's Watch turned away, gazing out the entrance of the hut. “I'll pretend I didn't hear that,” he admonished. Benjen softened his tone and smiled faintly as he turned back to them. Bran could tell his uncle was enjoying this far more than he had intended to; and, also, that he knew Bran was being dishonest. “You don't want me to have to separate you two, do you? To make sure you both behave, hmm?”

It was seemingly Meera's turn to act awkward. “Bran was just asking what the trees looked like in the Neck,” she told Bran's uncle. A little too quickly, it appeared. Benjen gave her a look. Meera had turned red by now too. She seemed to wither as he focused his attention on her. “I'll be outside if you need me,” the Crannogwoman mumbled, excusing herself before she hurried out the exit.

Bran felt incredibly guilty under his uncle's gaze, even though they hadn't done anything wrong. He shifted uncomfortably, while his uncle continued to stare at him. Finally, Bran declared defiantly, “What?! I was curious about the trees in Neck. I didn't ask Meera to do anything inappropriate. We were just talking!”

+++++++++++++

Benjen sighed and knelt down in front of Bran, so they were face to face. Quietly, he told his nephew, “That may be so in your case, Bran, but Meera wasn't just talking... she was flirting.” The lad tried to deny it was any such thing. Benjen firmly took hold of Bran's shoulders. “Bran, look at me!” he insisted.  
When Ned's son met his eyes, Benjen took his hands off of the boy's shoulders. “Bran... if she wasn't flirting with you, why is she so embarrassed?” Bran looked like a deer that knew it was being stalked and had no way out. Benjen lowered his voice even further. “And if Meera wasn't flirting with you, explain what your cock is doing right now?” he asked, as he pointed a finger downwards at his nephew's lap for emphasis.

+++++++++++++

Bran looked down in horror, before quickly covering his tented britches with his hands and averting his eyes. “I thought you said that was a normal part of growing up,” he accused.

“It is,” his uncle replied. “For a boy who is normal and whole.” Bran whipped his head around and glared intensely at Uncle Benjen. “I don't say that to cause you pain. You need to be told hard truths. Winter is coming, but now it's just around the corner. I put it down to chance, the first time. Now, I'm telling you... this is not normal, not for you! Certainly not this frequently.”

He didn't know what Uncle Benjen meant about chance, but Bran realised it hadn't been his uncle's intention to insult him by calling him a cripple. “I'm sorry I got angry at you,” he apologised.

“I forgive you, Bran,” Benjen replied. “Now we really need to be off before we lose another day.”

+++++++++++++

They travelled most of the day in silence. Meera didn't want Benjen to glare at her again. She hadn't intended to say what she said flirtatiously. All the same, the girl from the swamps didn't want to poke the wolf. So she was silent, even though she knew Bran had lied about there being no reason behind him asking about the Neck.  
Mid-afternoon, Meera decided she'd had enough of silence. Loud enough so Benjen would clearly hear her, she told Bran, “I'm sorry for this morning, I misspoke... it wasn't my intention to speak in such a provocative and vulgar manner. Forgive me?”

Bran laughed heartily. “I forgave you hours ago, Meera. Is that why you haven't been speaking?”

“No,” she answered. Meera decided to try and lighten the mood. She looked the Black Brother's way. “To be perfectly honest, I was afraid your uncle would glare at me again. It was very disconcerting.”

Without turning to face them, Benjen stated, “That was the intent. Stern, withering and without mercy. The perfect look to scare new recruits.”

“That's mean using it on Meera then, Uncle Benjen,” Bran jested.

Bran's uncle turned towards them slightly. There was a hint of mirth in Benjen's retort. “If not her, then who would I practice on, dear Nephew. You?” He sighed, turning away again. “Do you want me to leave you two so that you can finish your conversation about, what I sincerely hope were, actual trees?”

She laughed. “No, you can stay. Make sure we don't misbehave, or anything.”

Her friend smiled. “I don't mind, I guess,” he agreed. Bran added one stipulation, however. “As long as I'm allowed to send you away later if I so choose. I mean instead of now.” Benjen made a throaty grunt, which Bran seemed to take as acknowledgement and acceptance of his condition.

Meera brought the topic back to trees. “So, you wanted to know about trees where I'm from?”

+++++++++++++

The young lordling wasn't entirely comfortable with his uncle listening in, but it was what it was. “You said the trees in the Neck were partly submerged?”

The woman Bran loved nodded as she kept leading the horse. “Our trees in the Neck are broader in the trunk than the...” She searched her memory for the name. Meera's face brightened when she recalled it. “Pines... the pines of the Wolfswood. Yet not as broad as an ironwood that grows north of the Wall or the ancient weirwoods.” She paused and smiled fondly as she recalled her home.

Bran spoke again. “They have long roots, don't they? That can grow thick and get tangled up like hair?” He didn't know how else to describe what he'd seen.

Meera looked strangely at him. Uncomfortably like her brother had in Bran's vision. “That's an odd way of putting it, Bran,” she stated, not exactly answering the question.

He sighed. “That's a yes, isn't it?” She just nodded again and held her tongue. “In between the trees are pools of mud and murky water.” It was no longer a question. “They look shallow, but can actually swallow a man whole. Some even have mats of vegetation floating on them that make them look deceptively like solid ground.” Meera pulled the horse up abruptly and stared at him in shock. “There's an island in a river but it's a castle as well, and yet it isn't at the same time,” Bran continued, not even noticing they'd stopped moving. “Dirt and tree and stone, all weft together. And the island moves.”

+++++++++++++

The daughter of the marshes had been caught off guard by her companion. “You had a vision of Greywater Watch?!” she exclaimed. That was surprising to her... and unsettling.

Bran met her eyes briefly, then returned to staring at the saddle. “Yes,” he answered flatly.

“When?” Meera demanded. She was suspicious about what he'd glimpsed in his vision, yet she prayed to the gods Bran hadn't seen what she feared he could have.

+++++++++++++

A heavy sigh escaped Bran. “Last night,” he told her. “Yet I know that's not what you were asking.” He looked ahead along the path they were heading. “I don't know when exactly. You and Jojen were small, though. I saw you with your parents. Well, I recognised your father anyway. From a vision the Raven showed me at the cave. He was older in the vision last night, though. Obviously.” Bran decided he needed to confess to Meera. “I didn't come straight out and tell you I had a vision because I wasn't sure I'd actually had a vision.”

“Why?” she asked, looking a little confused.

He laughed. “Think about it, Meera. If my trees looked fantastical to you, don't you think your home might look fantastical to me?”

Meera processed that, then laughed too. “You have a good point there, I suppose. It must be so easy to fall into the trap of assuming everyone lives in a place similar to you if you've never left home.”

Benjen laughed as well. That startled Bran. He'd forgotten his uncle was there, wrapped up as he was speaking with Meera. The young man forged ahead regardless. “There was one other thing that made me unsure whether it was truly a vision or not.” He hesitated. “I need to ask you a question. Um, a personal one...”

Meera looked more than mildly queasy at the thought. Nonetheless, she answered, “Go ahead.”

He was afraid now, both of getting the truth and of upsetting Meera. But Bran stumbled through his question anyway because he needed to know. “Jojen... when you were young... did he... as a child did Jojen nearly drown in the bogs?”

His friend's downcast reaction told him everything he needed to know. “You saw that?” she quietly asked, her sadness palpable as she spoke.

Bran immediately apologised. “I'm sorry, Meera. It just happened.” He looked at her, heart breaking over the pain he'd caused her. “I didn't go there on purpose.”

+++++++++++++

Meera sighed. Her worst fears about Bran's questioning had been confirmed. “So now you know...” she told him bitterly. “Now you know how I failed him then, and then kept failing him. Right up until I slit his throat.” She started to cry as the reminder of her ultimate failure overwhelmed her. “My baby brother.”

Bran's reaction shocked her into a stunned silence. “I know nothing of the sort,” he yelled angrily. “You didn't fail him then, or now!”

The Crannogwoman was frightened by this sudden change in Bran. “But you saw it,” she stammered, staring at him fearfully. “I chased him, and he fell in.”

+++++++++++++

His anger softened nearly as quickly as it had come. “Get me off this horse,” the greenseer commanded, sighing loudly as he did. His uncle seemed to emerge from nowhere, and picked him up off of the horse, before setting him down again up against a tree.  
“Come here,” Bran told Meera, in a tone that suggested 'no' was not the recommended answer. So she meekly obeyed and sat down next to him in the snow. His uncle was still loitering around. “I think it might be time for you to go and scout, Uncle Benjen,” Bran suggested rather unsubtly. 

Benjen glanced at them each in turn and then off in the distance. “And so it is,” he agreed. “Call out if you need me.” He'd soon melted away into the snow.

When Bran was certain his uncle was far enough away, he grabbed Meera's arm and pulled her closer. She looked down uncertainly at her forearm where he held her. “Listen to me,” Bran pleaded with her. Meera looked up at him timidly. “I'm going to tell you exactly what I saw in that vision,” he informed her. “Alright?”

She looked away and appeared to be mulling it over. “No interrupting me until I'm finished, either,” Bran added. Meera turned back to look at him and silently nodded acquiescence to his request.  
So Bran told her everything he'd seen in the vision, from beginning to end, only leaving out Jojen's and his incriminating statements. He wasn't ready to tell her about that yet. Bran had also decided to leave out the particular reason why the vision had been so vivid according to Jojen. There was no point in reminding Meera of that incident again.

+++++++++++++

When Bran had finished, Meera could hardly process all of what he'd said. “Oh,” she responded. In her shock, that was all she could manage to say.

Gently, he reassured her. “You didn't chase Jojen until he fell, Meera... he was deliberately running from you.”

Side on, Meera awkwardly hugged Bran around the shoulders, before kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, Bran,” she told him. “For everything.” She struggled to fight her urge to kiss him as lovers did. So Meera abruptly released Bran and pulled away from him, her face seemingly aflame.

Bran seemed to understand why she'd had pulled away. He placed his hand on her cheek softly, and gently caressed her face. “Not yet, Meera,” Bran told her. “You must be patient... someday, but not yet.”

_Someday?_ So he had promised her now. Meera smiled broadly, and vowed, “I'll hold you to that, Brandon Stark.” She could wait now she had his promise. Meera got up and brushed the snow off of her furs.

+++++++++++++

Bran hoped he hadn't made a terrible mistake, but Meera had seemed pleased nonetheless. “You want to go find Uncle Benjen?” he asked her.

“No,” Meera grinned mischievously, clearly implying what she'd rather be doing. “But I will anyway.”

He blushed as he watched her walk away. Then Bran laughed quietly to himself, as he'd finally decided that the gods, Old or New or all of them, had a terrible and ironic sense of humour in regards to whom they made fall in love.

+++++++++++++

When Meera found Benjen, he was investigating some animal tracks. “Deer?” she asked hesitantly, hoping it wasn't anything more sinister. 

The former First Ranger didn't look up. “Wolves,” he replied. 

Meera looked closer. She could see why she hadn't recognised the spoor from further away. “Sorry,” the Crannogwoman apologised, “I'm not used to the tracks of anything other than small game in the snow.” She looked at the trail again. “Just regular wolves, though, right?”

Benjen stood. “Aye,” he confirmed. “But no less dangerous if there's a pack of them.” Bran's uncle looked at the sky. “We've lost too much daylight, but we won't be safe in the open tonight.”  
Finally, he looked at Meera. “I know a place to shelter, but we'll have to go a little out of our way. It means we'll have to keep travelling after nightfall, though. Not as dangerous as sleeping in the open, but still not safe either.”

She nodded assent to this change in plan. “I'll tell Bran.”

+++++++++++++

Sometime after dark, they came to a large flat area, that looked in the moonlight to be covered with rocks. Bran was about to ask his uncle a question when Benjen raised his hand and motioned to them not to speak with a finger held to his lips. The horse nickered at being stopped. The pair of youths silently exchanged a look of concern. Benjen disappeared from view, and a few minutes later came back.

“Can never be too careful,” he informed them with a hint of a smile. “The wildlings have been known to use this place too, from time to time.”

Meera held the reins while Bran was hoisted down from the horse by Benjen. After telling her to stay with the horse, the Night's Watchman carried his nephew through a cleft in the rock. When he was through the gap, Bran saw something beautiful. “Hot springs?” he asked, awestruck.

Benjen gave him an affirmative sounding grunt. “It's warm enough here during the day,” he told Bran. “But it can be a bit nippy at night. I might gather some wood for a fire after Meera's inside too.” His uncle sat him down against a boulder and then left the cave. So Bran rested there for a few minutes before he saw Meera's head pop inside the cave.

The rest of her soon followed. She started to approach Bran, before stopping and looking back the way she'd come. Turning back towards him, Meera frowned. “I forgot to ask your uncle what he was going to do with the horse,” she mentioned distractedly.

Bran pondered. “I hadn't thought about it,” he admitted. “But now you mention it, the horse won't fit in here, will it?” She shook her head. He shrugged in response. “Uncle Benjen will have thought of something to do about it.” Meera looked to be thinking that over, before nodding in acceptance. While Bran watched, she set out the furs for them to sleep in. She then helped move him carefully onto them, so that he could lie down if he wanted. Thinking about it, Bran did feel rather a bit tired. 

Meera took off her bag and put it down out of the way. She then sat by Bran on the furs and unwrapped the animal skin gaiters from around her boots. When she'd slipped off her footwear, his companion proceeded to wiggle her toes. Finally, Meera massaged them and then the rest of her feet. Bran watched in fascination as she did all this. Sure, it wasn't the first time he'd seen her perform this ritual, but for some reason, tonight he found it noteworthy. Meera caught him watching her as she pulled her boots back on.  
As she tied the gaiters back over her boots, she offered to do the same for Bran, telling him it was good for the blood flow after he'd told her he wouldn't be able to feel her doing it anyway. Eventually, Bran relented and agreed to let her rub his feet. First, Meera took off the fur gaiters from around his shins and calves. Then she unlaced and took off his left boot, telling him that she'd do his feet one at a time. Taking his foot in her hands, Meera started to knead it with her fingers.  
She was focused enough on her task that it didn't seem to matter to Meera that Bran was staring at her intently as she worked. Either that, or she was so focused she failed to notice. He felt it was more than passing strange; to know he was being touched and not feeling it. Bran found many things about being crippled odd, but this had always been the most queer in his mind.

When Meera had finished with his left foot, he lay back and thought about the possibility of exploring the cave further by daylight, while she worked on his other foot. Not long after she'd finished putting Bran's right boot and gaiter back on, Benjen popped his head in briefly to say he'd be keeping watch outside for the night. “You two get some rest, and we'll talk in the morning,” he added.  
Both of them had agreed with his uncle, Bran because he was tired and Meera, he suspected, due to the same reason. Especially after she started yawning. So they bedded down for the night. Meera fell asleep quickly, and soon she'd snuggled up to Bran in her slumber. He kissed the top of her head and settled down to sleep himself. Eventually, it came for him.

+++++++++++++

Meera woke in the night to Bran calling out his half-brother's name. She touched his arm in the dimness of the cave. “What's wrong, Bran?” she asked with concern. It took him a few moments to recover his breath because he was panting so hard.

Bran placed his other hand over Meera's hand and gave it what she thought to be a reassuring squeeze. “I saw Jon again,” he told her. She could tell he was still breathing heavily. “I'm sorry I woke you.”

“Don't worry about it,” Meera reassured him. After a short pause, she spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, referring to the dream or vision or nightmare Bran had seen.

“Some water first, please,” he requested. Meera got up, then groped around in the dimly lit cave for her sack and the waterskin it contained. She found it and came back to him. Passing it to Bran, he accepted the skin gratefully, before taking several large gulps. Her friend coughed, as he'd drank too quickly. He then sighed, seemingly satisfied that his thirst had been slaked. Bran thanked Meera again as he passed the waterskin back to her.

+++++++++++++

The greenseer exhaled loudly. “I really don't know what to make of this one,” he admitted. Dragging himself backwards using just his arms, Bran maneuvered himself so he could sit up against the wall of the cave. Meera sat down wordlessly next to him. He watched her pull the furs up around herself. _She must be cold from when she went to get the water,_ he thought.

He encouraged Meera to come closer. Then Bran asked, “Can I join you under those furs you're hoarding?” She giggled in the dim light and threw the sleeping skins over him too. Bran put his arm around her shoulder. “I was at Castle Black again,” he began, “but this time I was inside.”  
Bran paused for a moment, deciding what to say. “Jon was lying on a table, with his eyes closed. Ghost seemed to be almost guarding his body, lying by Jon's side. A Black Brother was there watching him too... I think he was one of Jon's friends. There was an older man with a short-cropped beard there, too. He brought a red-haired woman, who was dressed all in red as well, into the room to look at Jon.”  
He found the woman's presence somewhat puzzling. “She seemed to be the saddest of them all, actually. After a few moments, the Red Woman asked the Black Brother to fetch a basin of water, some washcloths and some scissors. The Brother left to go get them, and she asked the other man to help her undress Jon's body. He must have been a knight; I'm certain she called him 'Ser'. They took off Jon's bloody tunic. It took a while; so many straps and buckles and laces to untie.”

Bran stared at the opposite wall, as he recounted more of what he'd seen. “The Brother returned with basin, cloth and hair shears about the same time the knight and the woman finished getting off my brother's tunic. She told the knight and the Brother where to put the things and what to do. They removed his shirt next, followed by his undershirt. Jon's chest had so much blood on it. Next came his britches. As they took off his smallclothes, another man come through the door.” He swallowed loudly. “A wildling.”

+++++++++++++

Meera was surprised. “Inside Castle Black?!” she exclaimed.

“It's worse than that Meera,” Bran told her. The Crannogwoman felt a chill down her spine. “I'd seen him before... and so had you.” She sharply inhaled, suddenly fearful.

+++++++++++++

“Where?” Meera asked. Bran had felt her tense up. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

“At the windmill, the first time we nearly ran into Jon,” Bran told her. “The big one with the bushy red beard. He must have been the leader there because he told the rest of them to kill Jon.” He paused. “Then I ripped their throats out. Well, I mean Summer did... I mean, it's hard to separate sometimes...” Bran trailed off, hoping he hadn't come off as totally creepy.  
He took his arm back and pulled away from Meera. “I'm sorry,” he apologised. “That sounds really awful now that I think about it.”

+++++++++++++

Meera honestly didn't know what to think of Bran's admission about warging. It had been chilling to hear him speak like that, almost as if he had enjoyed making the kill; yet at the same time, he sounded terribly confused about what his actual feelings were. She remembered the time when she'd woken Bran from warging Summer; he had been sullen, rude and somewhat feral.  
_What did he say?_ Meera thought for a moment or two, then it came to her. _He said he'd been eating._ Had Summer made a fresh kill while Bran was inside the wolf's skin then? She pondered on that for a time. It would explain why his behaviour had been somewhat out of character. “We should go back to sleep,” Meera announced suddenly. Bran didn't move straight away, nor did he speak. Yet he didn't seem to object either. Soon enough, he dragged himself far enough from the wall so he could lie down.

Meera was at a loss as to what to do. She stayed close enough to Bran to share the furs, but far enough away so as she didn't touch him. In the dark, she couldn't tell what he was feeling. So she decided to leave it for the morning.

+++++++++++++

Bran lay in the dark, staring at the roof of the cave. He worried that Meera was now afraid of him. Had he scared her away? Bran found it terrifying, the thought of losing her friendship and love, all because she found his true self repellent. It hurt more than anything. He couldn't sleep, for the fears that lay festering in his heart.

He must have dozed off at some point because it was dark, then suddenly he opened his eyes, and it was bright enough that it had to be light outside. Bran felt awful. His head ached from lack of sleep. He groaned and covered his eyes. This wouldn't do, not at all.  
Bran needed sleep desperately. So he closed his eyes and pulled the furs over his head to block out the light. The young man felt so terrible from lack of sleep that he completely failed to notice that Meera was no longer beside him.

+++++++++++++

She'd heard Bran groan and had seen him pull the furs over his head. He'd sounded pained, but again Meera thought it best not to poke the wolf. Bran would open up when he was ready to. She hoped he would in any case.

Meera got up, stretched and decided to talk to Benjen about his nephew. Poking her head out the cave entrance, she scanned around for Bran's uncle. Soon enough, he appeared from beyond the tree-line. The Black Brother nodded by way of greeting. He turned back the way he came, disappeared for a short time, then returned leading the horse. On the horse's back was a medium-sized bundle of wood.  
When Benjen was a few lengths of a horse away from her, Meera informed him that they needed to talk about Bran. “He's had three visions in as many nights,” she mentioned, concerned how it would affect Bran. “Last night, during the night, he woke up terribly shaken and it took him longer than usual to recover.”

The elder Stark seemed slightly more pensive than usual. “Did he go back to sleep?”

Meera hesitated. “I don't know. Maybe?” she confessed. “We talked for a little while, then I told Bran we should go back to sleep. I lay down, he lay down, and I fell asleep.” Meera shrugged. “I get the feeling he didn't get back to sleep as easily as I did.”

Benjen sighed. “Help me with this wood?” he asked her politely. So Meera helped him carry the wood into the cave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear from what I wrote, the cave they're staying at is Jon and Ygritte's cave of sexy-times.
> 
> Don't be shy, please leave a comment - let me know what you think and/or that I still have an audience... ;)


	5. Day Six (continued)

When Bran woke again, he felt somewhat better. It was warm enough in the cave now that he didn't need the furs. He shook his head to clear the remaining sleepiness he felt. Propping himself up on his elbows, Bran scanned the cave for Meera or his uncle. He didn't see them. Assuming they'd come back sooner or later, he decided to try to explore the cave.  
The process of getting onto his belly from his back was wearying to Bran, and irritating because of the length of time it took. Eventually, he managed it. Half crawling and half dragging himself, the younger Stark slowly made his way exploring the cave. He made his way over to the waterfall he'd heard in the night. Bran decided that the way the light shimmered off of it was stunning.  
But of more interest to him were the hot springs themselves. Bran had just about gone far enough to see over the edge into the pool when Meera and Benjen came back into the cave. “Where are you going, Bran?” his uncle asked. “Those pools are deep enough to drown you if you slip in.” His uncle sighed at him. “I wish you weren't so headstrong. It's the one thing you actually have in common with your Uncle Brandon. Despite what your mother may have thought. She should have named you after your father, I think, instead. Many more similarities there.”

“What do you mean Mother should have named me different?” Bran replied, confused. “I thought Father gave us all our names.”

“No,” Benjen corrected him. “Your mother named Robb at Riverrun before your father returned from the Rebellion, and you, Bran, she insisted on naming you.” His brow furrowed and Bran knew his uncle was trying hard to remember something. “What was it she said?” the Night's Watchman thought out loud. Suddenly, his face appeared to light up. “Cat said it seemed to her that if your sisters had been named after previous female Starks, then what better name for a male Stark than Brandon.”  
His smile faded somewhat. “Ned knew the real reason, though. The truth is, there was a part of your mother that never stopped loving your Uncle Brandon, even after he was dead and she was married to your father.” Bran was taken aback, and it showed on his face. Benjen continued, “Don't misunderstand me, though, Bran – your mother loved your father deeply. But the first person you love will always have a piece of your heart.”

The youth considered what his uncle had told him. It made sense in a way. “I suppose,” he replied non-committally. The revelation – that his mother had loved his uncle before she'd loved his father – had hit him hard. Bran knew they'd been betrothed but assumed there hadn't been enough time for love. His mind then led him to some uncomfortable thoughts about Jon's mother. He banished them, though.  
No-one spoke for a while. Breaking the silence, Bran informed them, “Honestly, I was thinking about the fact that I haven't had a bath in ages.” He fidgeted with the dirt in front of him. “But I've realised, that's probably not practical.”

“How'd you do it before?” Benjen inquired.

“Hodor,” Bran replied sadly.

+++++++++++++

The Black Brother pondered for a moment. “I'm fairly sure we could make something work, Bran,” he posited. “But before we do that, perhaps we should offer our companion a bath first?” Benjen looked over at Meera. “While we go outside and think about what to do about a bath for you, of course.”

“If that's alright with Bran, I'd like to,” she answered, while tentatively watching her friend.

+++++++++++++

Bran briefly had a thought cross his mind about what Meera looked like underneath her clothes. Fleeting as it was, it still made him feel ashamed, and he went beet red. “Yeah, sure, that's fine,” he mumbled in reply. His uncle's strong arms picked him up, and Bran purposely hid his face from Meera.

“Let us know when you're done, Meera,” Benjen suggested. “We'll be just outside.” She agreed, then the man carried his nephew away to leave her enough privacy to bathe.

Bran decided that getting out of the cave by day, was far easier than getting into the cave by night. His uncle set him down against one of the boulders near the cave's entrance. Uncle Benjen found a place for himself to sit so that he was face to face with Bran, but they still had a few feet between them.  
“You were imagining her naked, weren't you?” he accused him. Bran blushed again while attempting to dodge the question. “Don't deny it,” his uncle continued. “I was a fifteen-year-old boy once, too. Besides, your face is shouting the truth.” Said boy wished he could find a deep enough hole to crawl into to cover up his shame then.

+++++++++++++

Benjen Stark sighed. “It's an entirely natural reaction at your age,” he told Bran. “Meera is reasonably good-looking, and you're already attracted to her.” His nephew looked at him a little less anxiously now. “Just don't make a habit of it. Women tend not to appreciate that sort of thing.” Ned's boy nodded, appropriately cowed.  
He chose to move onto what he'd originally intended to talk to Bran about. “On a somewhat unrelated note, Meera came to speak with me this morning,” Benjen started carefully. “She told me you had another vision last night; that the two of you talked about it for a bit and then you both went back to sleep. Or rather, she did, but this morning it seemed like you hadn't gone back to sleep for a while.” He noticed Bran fidgeting with some snow. Clearly, something had happened between his charges last night, but neither of them seemed ready to talk about it yet. “Meera is really concerned about you Bran,” his uncle coaxed. Unfortunately, his kinsman reacted completely different to how Benjen was expecting him to.

“You think I don't know that?!” Bran exploded. “Of course she is! She has every right to be!” Benjen involuntarily flinched at the intensity of his nephew's outburst. The boy on the cusp of manhood didn't even notice, he was in such a state. “I said terrible things last night,” Bran barrelled on, “and I can't take them back, no matter how much I want to.”  
He paused momentarily before continuing, less angry now. “Meera is frightened of me... Seven hells, I'm frightened of me! I have powers I don't know the limits to... I don't trust how I even feel things sometimes or know whether they're really my feelings or not.” Bran seemed to run out of things to say. He became withdrawn and almost fearful.

Benjen contemplated what his nephew had said. “What exactly did you say to Meera, that frightened her so much, Bran?” he probed, hoping his manner of speech was gentle enough to elicit a response.

His brother's son sighed. “Do you know about wargs, Uncle Benjen?” he asked, after a short while. Benjen noticed Bran staring into the distance beyond them as he spoke.

The dead man nodded. “I was First Ranger for quite a few years, Bran... I know about wargs,” he answered. Benjen wondered how this related to Bran and Meera, though. He nonetheless waited patiently for Bran to continue. His nephew looked him in the eyes once more.

“Did you know that I'm one?” Bran asked. Benjen couldn't quite tell whether his tone was accusatory or not. Nor was he sure what the look his nephew was giving him meant either.

“Yes,” the Black Brother replied evenly. “But I only found out after the Children saved me.” His answer seemed to placate Bran.

“When I woke from my fall, I gradually discovered that I could warg Summer – that's what I ended up calling my dire-wolf,” the skinchanger told him. “I didn't really understand what was happening at all, not until Jojen came and he explained things. Until then, all I knew was that I dreamt of being Summer and the wolf dreams were different to other dreams.” He sighed sadly. “But Jojen wasn't a warg himself, so he could only tell me general things about warging... and sometimes he got things wrong, too. Once, Jojen urged me not to warg so much; that if I stayed in Summer too long, I'd forget myself.”  
Bran frowned, appearing to be searching his thoughts. “But it wasn't that, it wasn't... forgetting. It was... the temptation of being whole, of leaving everything bad that's happened behind and just living a simple life as a wolf. Jojen didn't know how that felt. I feel as though Summer was a part of me, and I was a part of him... and now he's dead, it's almost like a piece of me is missing.”

Benjen found what his nephew was saying intriguing, but still hadn't quite figured out how it related to the problem between the pair he was escorting to the Wall. So the elder Stark remained silent. Bran gave a frustrated sigh. “I can't tell whether what I felt when I was in Summer were my feelings or his. Twice, on our journey to the Three-Eyed Raven, we nearly ran into Jon. The second time was at Craster's; the first was at a windmill in the Gift. We were trapped in this windmill by the arrival of a group of wildlings.”  
The lad's brow furrowed, looking somewhat distressed. “Jon seemed to be travelling with them, but when he refused to kill a man, they turned on him. But he escaped on a horse because I attacked some of the wildlings. I mean Summer did, while I was inside him. Shaggydog helped too, but the man I killed in Summer... I don't know who it was – me or Summer – but it felt good tearing out his throat. It could have been both of us enjoying it, for all I know, and the memory of it turns my stomach.”  
Now Benjen understood why Bran had reacted so emotionally earlier in their conversation, but not how it related to Meera. His nephew had turned his head away again and continued to elaborate. “Me killing that wildling in Summer, it came up last night when I spoke to Meera. I was even less able to articulate what I felt to her. I'm worried she sees me as some kind of monster. Honestly, I'm worried that I am a monster myself.” He spoke quietly, and his tone betrayed the guilt he felt. Bran closed his eyes and sniffled.

“Look at me, Bran!” the Night's Watchman commanded softly. Bran opened his eyes, blinked a few times and slowly turned his head to face his uncle. Benjen looked his kinsman directly in the eyes, noticing that they had tears forming in them. “If you're a monster, dear Nephew, what does that make me?” he asked Bran gently. The lad's mouth opened slightly, and his eyes widened. He dropped his head. Benjen could see that Bran was thinking through what he'd said by the boy's rapidly moving eyes.

+++++++++++++

Meanwhile, Meera was making the most of her bath. She'd stripped off as soon as she was sure the others had gone, and jumped in eagerly. The water was even hotter than she'd anticipated, and it felt magnificent to have this much warm water against her skin. She soaked for a while, then scrubbed herself as best she could with some cloth Benjen had left her.  
Meera decided she should wash her hair, now that she had the opportunity. She submerged herself and found herself thinking of Bran. Something bothered her about the way he'd acted before. Meera surfaced, and tipped her head backwards, dipping her curls most of the way into the water. Running her fingers through her hair, she realised what it was about Bran that had her irked. He'd been thinking about her with no clothes on! The Crannogwoman was certain of it.  
Standing up straight, she wrung out her hair as best she could. _Bran must have been embarrassed, though,_ Meera thought, remembering how he'd avoided eye contact afterwards. Oddly, she found that flattering, yet somewhat disconcerting at the same time. She supposed it was a good sign that Bran had thought it inappropriate also. 

As she got out, the young woman briefly thought about Bran. Whilst she was attracted to him, Meera found that it embarrassed her to even think about thinking of her friend without clothes. Besides, his injuries had left him with very well defined muscles in his chest and upper arms, but the muscles in his legs had atrophied from lack of use. That was evident from how small Bran's legs appeared under his britches and how loosely they hung off him, especially towards his feet. Meera didn't need him naked to know that. As for the rest of Bran, she was trying desperately not to imagine it now, turning red in the process.  
After getting out of the pool, Meera towelled herself off as best she could with the rest of the cloth Benjen had provided her. Her wandering mind was becoming problematic she concluded as she dressed. She had to talk to Bran about it... just as soon as they sorted out what was already hanging between them.

+++++++++++++

Bran and his uncle had been finished talking for some time when their companion emerged from the cave. He gave her a little smile, hoping she'd return it. Meera's lips hinted at a brief flicker of a smile, but Bran guessed she was trying not to encourage him. Her hair glistened, and he realised that it was wet.

“We should go inside,” Bran said to no-one in particular. He didn't want Meera to catch a chill, and being out in the cold with wet hair was a bad idea. Uncle Benjen wordlessly picked him up, as Meera disappeared back into the cave. Bran was finding that the time-consuming nature of getting into and out of the cave, was fraying his patience and getting on his nerves.  
Benjen sat him down against a rock, near the pool. His eyes drilled into his nephew's. Bran knew what that meant. Uncle Benjen moved away and began building a small fire off to one side of the cave opening. The greenseer swallowed. “I... I need to talk to you, Meera.” He stared at his toes. “About last night...”

+++++++++++++

She'd been expecting this. “And I need to talk to you, Bran,” Meera replied. “But, please, you go first...” Her friend looked like he'd swallowed a frog. She smiled internally at the thought, careful not to show any amusement on her face. Meera didn't want to discourage Bran from whatever he was going to say next.

“I wanted to apologise... if I scared you last night,” he said, hesitantly looking up at her, before dropping his eyes again.

The girl from the swamps knelt down beside Bran and took his hand in hers. “Bran,” she started, vaguely aware Benjen was watching her too. “I want you to know something. Last night... I cut you off because I felt uncomfortable with what you said. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't have expressed what you were feeling.” Meera patted his hand reassuringly with her free hand.  
She hesitated, figuring out how to continue. “Listen... honestly, I couldn't tell how you felt last night. It was dark, and I didn't want to make things worse by saying the wrong thing.” Meera looked up from her hand to Bran's face and tried to explain further. “I thought it best if we talked about it by day.” He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

Bran didn't speak for a long time. He seemed to be mulling what she'd said over in his head, though. Meera could tell by the subtle way the muscles played across his face. “You didn't cut me off because you were scared that I'd revealed my true nature?” he whispered fearfully, staring at his hand that she held. 

A sad frown creased her face. “Oh, Bran!" Meera sighed sadly. Then she attempted to comfort him. “Despite your House sigil, you are not a dire-wolf... and Summer was not a man.” When he didn't answer for a time, Meera found the silence becoming unbearable. “Look at me, Bran,” she softly begged him. So he did. His eyes looked worried still, and his brow was creased to match. “I don't pretend to understand the bond you had with Summer. Jojen didn't either. He understood the principles, yes, but not the practice. I know you were a part of each other, but I also know, especially looking at you now, that the blood-lust you felt was Summer's, not your own.”  
Bran didn't appear to quite believe that himself. Meera pressed on. “I've known you a while, Bran... and your uncle has known you a significant portion of your life that I didn't know you. You're not a murderer.” She paused briefly to gather her thoughts. “Sometimes, you may not know your own strength, but you've never enjoyed killing nor sought it out. Every time you've killed a person, it's been self-defence. You are the kindest, gentlest, most selfless person I know... and I'm proud to call you my friend.”  
She leant down, so her lips nearly touched Bran's ear, and whispered, “And to call you the man I love.” Meera pulled back and looked into his eyes again. Tears were welling up in them, and he quickly pulled her in for a hug with the arm she wasn't holding. She let go of Bran's hand and returned the embrace wholeheartedly.

“Thank you,” Bran told her, overcome with emotion. “I feel the same about you, too.” Meera smiled broadly and she silently thanked the gods that Benjen Stark could not see her face. She knew he wouldn't like it. 

+++++++++++++

Bran eventually released Meera from the hug, but only after he'd felt his uncle eyeing him again. That look he had that seemed to cast subtle disapproval over how close the two of them were. “You should go sit by the fire and dry your hair,” Bran suggested to her, letting his hand linger on hers briefly. 

Meera got up, collected the cloths she'd used earlier, then went and sat by the fire. She gave the washcloths to Benjen so that he could dry them over the fire. Bran sighed and began unlacing his tunic in preparation for getting washed. _This is going to be awkward,_ he thought. After the laces, he undid the series of hook-and-eye-loop fastenings that held the tunic together so it could be laced.  
Slowly, he wriggled one arm out of a sleeve and then the other arm. Bran pulled his tunic out from behind him gently, so he didn't damage it. Folding it, he put it on the rock beside him, opposite the pool. Bran thought it was still pleasantly warm in just his shirt and undershirt.

++++++++++++

Benjen passed Meera the smaller of the two cloths and told her to take it to Bran. She took it over to him, and he thanked her. Meera turned to go, and Bran caught her by the wrist. She looked down at his hand on her wrist and then at him. He was staring at the cloth in his lap. “Um... one of you... I need you to help me,” Bran stammered. Meera could tell he was embarrassed.

She looked over at his uncle in askance, uncertain what to do. Benjen looked over at the pair of them. “If you're alright with Meera helping you do your top half, I can do the rest. But if my hands get too wet and start to freeze up, I'll have to stop,” he warned.

The younger Stark nodded, and let her wrist go. He sighed. Meera got down on her knees. “Tell me what you need me to do, Bran,” she implored softly.

+++++++++++++

Bran leant forward and wriggled off his shirt, then his undershirt. He indicated that he wanted them to be put with his tunic. Meera did that for him. Then Bran instructed her to wet the cloth for him, while he asked Benjen to put him on his side. His uncle put down his black cloak for Bran to lie on and then complied with Bran's request. Propping himself up on one elbow, he mentioned, “I'll need the dry cloth too, Uncle Benjen.”  
Meera knelt beside the pool. She pulled up a sleeve and dipped the cloth in the warm water. Wringing out the excess water, she then brought it back to Bran. Kneeling beside him once more, Meera moved as though she was going to wash his chest. Bran's hand was shaking by now, but he blocked her attempt. “I can do the front,” he insisted, to let Meera know why. “I'll just need you to do my back.” She nodded, seemingly understanding his reticence.  
So, Bran scoured the dirt and grime from his torso. He was painfully aware that Meera was trying to avoid looking at him out of respect for his feelings. At the same time, Bran was unfortunately also aware that she was failing miserably in her efforts. He needed her to wet the cloth several more times before he'd finished. When Bran was satisfied with the cleanliness he'd attained on his chest, he handed Meera the washcloth. 

His elbow was aching by now, so the young man rolled onto his newly cleaned front and folded his arms above his head. In perfect silence, except for the sounds of the fire and waterfall, Meera scrubbed his sides gently but firmly. She moved onto his back and washed it in the same manner. Bran found the sensation strangely enjoyable. When Meera finished, she helped him back to a seated position again and towelled Bran off. He quickly sponged his armpits, before holding the cloth out for Meera to take back. Bran looked at her apologetically.  
If she noticed how bad he smelled, she didn't complain. Meera rinsed the cloth for the umpteenth time, and Bran let her do his shoulders and arms. She towelled them off as well, and he finally met her gaze. Meera was smiling reassuringly at him, and he gave her an embarrassed little smile back, blushing a little as he did so. Bran finished off by washing and drying his neck and face. It felt good to be clean.

+++++++++++++ 

Meera had felt Bran's uncomfortableness when she'd started washing him, but she also noticed him relax more and more, the longer she spent. She hadn't even minded too much, when he had handed her the cloth after cleaning his armpits, despite him looking like he'd swallowed a frog again. Sure, it had stunk, but Meera had smelled far more unpleasant things than body odour before. Oddly, it didn't seem so bad when it smelled of her prince.  
After smiling at Bran and him returning it, Meera let him finish off. When he was done, Bran lay back against the rock. She'd determined that she liked how his chest looked. Robust, with just the hint of hair. Meera had to look away, for fear Bran would catch her staring. She saw him nervously playing with the laces of his britches. It was plain to see that he didn't want to take them off in front of her.

Meera understood. She'd seen how uncomfortable he was with the possibility of others seeing his naked legs. Bran also seemed uncomfortable with the thought of seeing his legs naked himself. _He doesn't like seeing them because they remind him of what he's lost,_ Meera thought sadly. She took her friend's trembling hands in hers. “Let me help you,” she begged, looking at his face. “Please?” He nodded assent without looking at her. Before Meera did anything else, she moved to Bran's feet and took off his boots, before placing them aside.

+++++++++++++

He stared down at Meera's hands as she unlaced his britches. His hands had gone to jelly before she'd even taken them in her own. Bran was terribly ashamed of how ugly his legs were now. So small and malformed. He didn't want Meera to see them and be revolted by how hideous they were. But it was too late for that now; she was going to see them anyway.  
Uncle Benjen appeared silently by Bran's side and lifted him up, as Meera tugged his britches down over his bottom and snaked them off of his legs. Then his uncle sat him down again, and Meera made sure his britches joined the rest of his growing pile of clothes. Bran sat there, in nothing but his smallclothes, cheeks on fire and feeling completely naked. 

He thought his friend would be repulsed, but instead, she surprised him. Seeing the scar from where his leg had been sliced their first stay at Craster's, Meera reached out and lightly ran her fingers down it, tracing the scar's nearly horizontal path across the middle of his right thigh. She caught herself when she consciously realised what she was doing, snatching back her hand and turning bright red.  
“Sorry,” Meera quickly apologised. “That was... weird of me.” Bran couldn't help but laugh. Now she was caught off guard and stared at him, shocked by his reaction. He shook his head, still laughing at the absurdity of it all. Soon enough, Meera couldn't help but join in.

When Bran could breathe again, he spoke to her. “Come on then, you might as well wash them now,” he permitted. “We don't want my legs to turn into two blocks of ice, now do we?”

+++++++++++++

Meera giggled at Bran's attempt at jocularity. She did his right leg first, cleaning the upper side from mid-thigh down to his ankle, before drying it off. Just before starting on his left leg, she noticed another scar running vertically down the outside of his thigh. It looked as though it had been slashed deeply with a knife, and then stitched by a maester. “What happened here?” Meera questioned him, pointing to this new scar she'd discovered. 

“That one was from one of Osha's travelling companions – a Night's Watch deserter – the day I met her,” Bran recalled. “They were trying to steal my horse. She distracted Robb by sneaking up behind him and attempting to club him.” Meera hid her slight smile from Bran by tilting her head. _Osha seems to be a bit of a one-trick pony, in that regard,_ she noted. The Crannogwoman kept the observation to herself, though. She was too interested in what he was saying to dwell on it now anyway. Making certain her face was neutral again, Meera focused her full attention on her liege lord, watching his face as he went on with his tale.  
She needn't have bothered turning aside, as Bran had yet to take his eyes off of his thigh. He touched his scar lightly with his fingertips as he spoke. “The deserter cut me when he was hacking at the straps of my specially designed saddle. He dragged me down from Dancer's back when he'd cut through all of them.” She surmised, from the context Bran had used it in, that Dancer had been the name of his horse.  
He continued narrating. “I tried to fight him – to stop him – but all I could really do was flail my arms at him. Robb had managed to disarm Osha in the meantime, after dispatching her two other companions. He'd grabbed her by the hair to stop her from attacking him again.” Bran tilted his head towards Meera but still didn't shift his eyes from his leg. “Just like you did, Meera, the day we met,” he added, as an aside. She remained silent, finding the coincidence disconcerting. The Prince of the North exhaled loudly, almost as if he sensed her discomfiture and knew she wouldn't reply. He tilted his head away from her now. “Then the man held a knife to my throat. Feeling the cold steel at my neck, I don't ever remember being that scared before then, and so I cried out for Robb.”

Meera reached out, lightly brushing Bran's forearm before resting her hand upon it. She gently squeezed his arm. He looked down at where she was touching him. The Crannogwoman's cheeks reddened. Worrying that her gesture had been too intimate, she hastily pulled back her arm. Her friend swallowed distractedly and then quietly asked her, “Would you bring me the water please, Meera?” She complied with his request and got to her feet. Meera quickly retrieved the skin and returned to Bran's side.  
He drank a substantial portion of what remained in the waterskin, and she figured he must have been parched from speaking, as well as from nerves. Meera prayed it hadn't been from her touch. Bran let out a long, drawn-out sigh of relief after he'd lowered the waterskin from his lips. He plugged it back up and handed it to her, thanking her as he did. She laid it aside, out of the way near Bran's clothes, not bothering to put it away properly yet. Meera knelt beside him once more to listen to the end of his tale.

He looked towards her but didn't quite meet her eyes, brows knitted in concentration. “My brother looked up, sword in hand, and saw the deserter holding me. He demanded Robb put down his sword.” Bran had a ghost of a smile on his lips now. Almost as if something about what Meera would have thought to be an unpleasant memory amused him. “I told him not to put the sword down. But Robb did anyway. Then Theon shot an arrow through the deserter's heart from behind. He nocked another arrow and aimed it at Osha, after checking his man was actually dead. My brother let go of Osha, leaving Theon to guard her with his bow and rushed over to me, to see if I was alright. Robb picked me up in his arms, and I told him I was fine, that I couldn't feel the cut. I clung to him as he held me, still somewhat frightened.”  
Bran sighed. “Theon was arrogant, as usual. Smug and cocky and self-assured of his own prowess. He congratulated Robb on his first kill, not even acknowledging that the former Night's Watchman had been his own first kill. Robb argued with Theon, calling him reckless, telling him that if he'd missed he could have killed me or gotten me killed. Theon countered that if he hadn't attempted the shot both Robb and I would definitely have been killed. I think he was confused, expecting Robb would thank him for saving me.” Meera thought this Theon person sounded like a bit of an ass from Bran's description but knew she needed more information to be certain.  
Her friend's brow furrowed again. “I'd never seen dead men up close like that before, and I couldn't understand why Robb and Theon were fighting instead of taking me back to the castle.” Meera knew from his voice what Bran meant; how he'd felt. Her own first time seeing a dead man up close had been terrifying, and it was in far less traumatic circumstances. She couldn't imagine how bad it had been for Bran. Her mind conjured up Jojen's death again, and she chewed her lip a little. No, that was a lie. Meera could imagine; she just didn't want to. 

“What of Osha?” she prompted cautiously, trying to stop Bran and herself from dwelling overly long on each of their intense emotional memories.

He said nothing for a time, and Meera feared he hadn't heard her. She was just about to ask Bran again when he answered her. “Robb spared Osha's life after she pleaded for clemency, put her in leg irons and sent her to work in the kitchens.” He allowed himself a smile now, Meera noticed, but it seemed to be a strange one. “Heh,” her companion laughed briefly, “...and that's how Osha came to be our guest.”  
Bran rubbed absently at the scar with the heel of his hand. “It's odd, you know,” he stated. “Seeing yourself bleed and not feeling it.” She imagined it would be rather an odd thing, too. It was interesting, as well, to know how the wildling Osha had come to meet the Starks. Meera imagined that the story behind how Osha become one of Bran and Rickon's fiercest protectors was an interesting one too.  
She resolved to ask him about it another time, though, as she needed to finish washing Bran's legs before they got too cold. He took his hand away to allow Meera access to clean his left leg. Bran placed it behind him and leant his weight back on both of his arms now. She quickly left to re-wet the cloth, as it had gone cold, before returning to kneel at her lord's side and went to work cleaning.

After Meera had finished washing and drying the upper side of Bran's leg, Benjen was there to move his nephew to a position where he was lying on his belly. She thought that the Black Brother was like a silent shadow. Meera repeated the process; she started higher on the backs of Bran's thighs this time and washed downward towards his ankles, towelling off the limbs when she was done.  
Next the Crannogwoman tackled Bran's feet. She paid particular attention to his toes, making sure to thoroughly clean and dry between them. As Meera washed the soles of his feet, she thought, _This is just like massaging Bran's feet last night, only with a moist cloth as well._ It amused her somewhat, and she smiled. Meera was glad Bran couldn't see it, though. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. The girl from the swamps finished by washing his heels and the top surfaces of his feet, then drying the entirety of each foot, one at a time.  
Uncomfortable with the thought of cleaning anywhere else on the man her heart desired, she soaked and wrung out the washcloth one last time, before handing it off to Benjen. Meera got up and sat by the fire, facing away from Bran in order to give him some more privacy.

+++++++++++++

Benjen didn't blame Meera for her discomfort at the thought of washing any closer to his nephew's intimate areas. He was uncomfortable with doing it, and he was Bran's blood kin. The lad let his uncle finish undressing him before Benjen returned him to a sitting position, before handing Ned's boy the washcloth and the towel cloth. The Night's Watchman turned his back and waited for his kinsman to finish. When Bran let his uncle know he was ready, the elder Stark washed and dried his nephew's bottom.  
Finally, Benjen pulled the young man's smallclothes up to where he could reach them himself and Bran covered his nakedness back up. Next, the dead man got Howland's girl to come back and help him put his nephew's britches back on. The hardest part was getting them over Bran's bottom. Benjen had to hold the boy up, at the same time Meera was trying to stop the britches from falling down. When that was done, Benjen propped Bran up so that he was seated leaning against a rock, then returned to the fire to dry the cloths out.

His nephew's tale about his first meeting with his erstwhile spearwife companion had given the former First Ranger insight into both the wildling woman and his two nephews. Robb's love for Bran had shone through in Bran's retelling, as had Osha's wilfulness. Theon Greyjoy had been an unpleasant, yet expected, addition to the story. Benjen knew that Robb and Theon had become close over the years, in spite of the Stark ward being nearly two years older than Ned's firstborn. _Where did Ned go wrong with you, Theon? Or were you always your father's son?_ Then he briefly wondered if he'd known the man Theon killed.  
He chose not to dwell on the past. Instead, Benjen ruminated on the present. Specifically on the potential storm brewing right in front of him. Helooked away from the fire to observe the pair again. Meera's overly familiar touching of Bran's arm as he had recalled his story had not gone unnoticed by his uncle. _How do I make them see how dangerous this could be? How will she bring herself protect you if you break her heart, Nephew? How will you focus on your task, do what you were born to do, if you hurt Meera like that?_ Benjen realised he still needed more time to think about how to approach the issue. He only hoped they could keep their hands to themselves in the meantime. Guiltily, Benjen thought of his sister. _Why did the gods have to make us such fools for love?_

+++++++++++++

Bran re-laced his britches, then asked for his shirts. Meera gave them to him. He tossed his undershirt over his head and wriggled it down his body. When he had it sitting right, Bran did the same with his shirt. Satisfied, he leant back against the rock and exhaled. Suddenly, the youth realised he was famished. “Do we have any food left?” he inquired.  
Meera went rummaging in her sack and pulled out a leg of coney. She handed it to Bran. He accepted it gratefully, and ravenously devoured the meat off of it. His friend also passed him the waterskin, which he thanked her for. When Bran had finished eating and drinking, he told her, “That was good... thanks for that.” She smiled at him in response. “It must be after midday,” Bran thought aloud. He rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Are we going to travel today?”

Benjen and Meera exchanged a look. “We'll stay here again tonight; you need more rest,” she replied.

Bran was going to object when he spontaneously yawned. “Apparently, my body agrees with you,” he lamented. “I suppose I should finish telling you what I saw if we aren't going anywhere.”

+++++++++++++

Meera helped her friend closer to the fire and assisted him in getting comfortable. Then she fetched his tunic in case he needed it, and sat down beside Bran. Benjen chose that moment to tell them he was heading out to find some game and more wood. Meera assumed that his sudden decision had also doubled as a convenient excuse to leave them alone to talk.  
“I was telling you about that bushy-red-bearded wildling from the windmill, wasn't I?” Bran asked. She nodded, despite the fact that the question had clearly been rhetorical. “He was there, and he seemed weirdly upset to see Jon lying dead on the table. Which I found odd, for obvious reasons, namely the whole trying to murder him earlier.” He paused momentarily. “Ghost didn't seem to mind him either. That was weird too. Ghost had gotten up from Jon's side when they'd started undressing him, and went and lay under the table looking... sad, I guess.”

Bran appeared to have stopped talking for the moment and was staring at the fire. Meera turned her head from eyeing her companion to watch the blaze herself. She pondered the wolf's reactions. Ghost had seemed friendly enough when they'd released him from the cage at Craster's. He'd nuzzled Bran, happy at his freedom, yet the dire-wolf also acted like he'd recognised the boy. Ghost had given Summer's injured leg a few licks before nuzzling his neck. Bran's dire-wolf had bared his throat submissively to the other before they mutually exchanged face licks. Then Ghost turned to the Keep and had sprinted off toward Jon Snow.  
Meera thought now, after meeting half of the Stark dire-wolf pack, that dire-wolves seemed to be far more intelligent than normal dogs or wolves. While Bran appeared to be the only warg among the Stark children, she recalled that Shaggydog and Rickon had a strong link with each other, similar to Summer and Bran. Even Ghost had seemed attuned to Jon, somehow; enough to know when Jon was in danger.  
It occurred to Meera that Bran's bond with Summer might only have been deeper than his brothers' connections to their wolves because of the warging. The thought intrigued her. Meera fed some more fuel onto the burning pile of wood and rejoined Bran. She lay her head on his shoulder, and he rested his head against hers. They watched the fire together, for a time, in silence.  
Meera put her arm around Bran's waist, and he rested his hand on top of hers. “Tell me what me what happened next, Bran?” she suggested politely. “I'm worried we may fall asleep watching this fire if neither of us talks.” 

+++++++++++++

Bran laughed lightly, trying not to disturb Meera's head. “Fine, fine,” he surrendered. “So, anyway, when Jon was undressed, the Red Woman draped a cloth over him for dignity. She then washed Jon's body by hand... similar to what you did for me before with my back and legs. Jon's chest took her a long time, because of all the dried blood. When she'd finished, I could see all the stab wounds on Jon. Seven, at least... one of them right through his heart.” Bran unconsciously tensed up. “Just like Robb did,” he recalled tearfully. 

Meera hugged him with the arm she had around his waist, and Bran squeezed her hand which he held in response. “I'm sorry,” she apologised softly, “I didn't mean to upset you, Bran.”

He kissed her on top of the head. "Don't apologise, you weren't to know," he kindly spoke. Gathering his thoughts, Bran told her, “I think the woman in red was some sort of foreign priestess or something. She started chanting in a language I didn't recognise and trimming bits of Jon's hair off before burning the hair in a brazier. It was all rather bizarre.”

His friend lifted her head up. “What were the rest of them doing?” she asked nervously.

Perplexed by the response of the three men himself, Bran replied, “All three of them just seemed to be watching the woman doing her... ritual. When she was done snipping hair and burning it, the Red Woman washed Jon's hair. Then she laid her hands on my brother's chest and prayed. Well, I think she was praying. I mean, it seemed similar in structure to a liturgical prayer of the Seven.”

+++++++++++++

Meera didn't remind Bran that, as one of the Crannogmen, she had no experience with the Faith of the Seven. She hypothesised that it must have been the influence of his mother, who was a southerner Meera recalled; most Northmen barely tolerated the Andal religion. Bran continued, “Anyway, she prayed over his body, and it seemed like all of them were expecting something the happen. The more the Red Woman prayed over Jon, the more discouraged she became. Eventually, she begged her god or gods in the Common Tongue. But nothing happened, and the woman looked at the knight like she was totally lost.”  
He paused, seemingly perplexed. “The wildling stormed out of the room, angry. The Red Woman left the room, utterly defeated. The Black Brother followed her, devastated. But the knight stayed for a few more moments alone with Jon. He seemed disappointed, but even he left too, closing the door behind him. Even Ghost looked like he was depressed, lying there on the floor. But suddenly, Ghost perked up and stared at Jon... and Jon breathed, Meera!”

Meera sat bolt upright, trying to process what Bran had told her. Somehow, this priestess or witch or whatever had reanimated Jon Snow's body. “How is that even possible?” she exclaimed, shaking in fear.

Despite initially catching him off guard with her reaction, Bran quickly turned his head to face Meera and grasped her arm firmly, yet gently. “I don't know,” he admitted, “but that was when I woke up last night...” Bran seemed to notice her shaking. “Come here?” he suggested, before enveloping Meera in a hug. “I saw more this morning. After you got up, I mean. His eyes are still dark like Uncle Benjen's, and he seems to still be Jon,” Bran reassured her.

“That's... good, I suppose,” she responded, a little shakily. Bran held her until her heartbeat slowed to a more reasonable pace. After he'd released her, Meera decided she needed to walk around for a little while. “I need to get some air for a minute or two, Bran,” she informed him.

+++++++++++++

Bran let her go without saying anything. He thought it best to allow her to process what he'd said on her own terms. Also, it was probably best he didn't tell Meera yet just how much he'd enjoyed cuddling and hugging her. Bran hadn't wanted it to end. Part of him wished they could just stay in the cave forever, but he knew that was selfish and would likely condemn the race of Man to die a horrible death.  
He sighed and continued to watch the flames. Bran prayed for his brothers and sisters, wherever they were, that they were alive and well. Especially Jon. He had looked shocked and scared when he'd tried to get up from the table. Even after the knight had wrapped his cloak around Jon. The Red Woman had tried to talk to him, but her words seemed to have upset Jon more, so the knight had sent her out of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cave of sexy-times is getting a little steamier :P


	6. Day Six to Day Seven

Meera had held herself together long enough to get out of the cave. Then she ran blindly until she couldn't run any longer, heedless of where she was going. Slumping down against a tree, Meera cried bitterly. As she howled and wept loudly, the girl from the swamps was vaguely aware that she sounded like a dying animal. She knew she should have been happy for Bran, yet all she could think of was Jojen and how he died. Breathing heavily now, Meera sucked down gulps of air between the sobs wracking her body.  
How long she was there before Benjen found her, she couldn't say. "Meera?" he asked tentatively. The Night's Watchman didn't have to say any more than that, she knew what he was asking.

Rubbing the tears from her face angrily, Meera replied, “I'm fine, really!” She said it a little too forcefully though. There was no fooling Bran's uncle.

“No, you're not fine,” Benjen retorted evenly. He paused and squatted down next to her. His next words were gentle. “Was it something Bran said?” That prompted another round of crying, this time out of shame. Meera shook her head vigorously, not trusting herself to speak.

When she managed to get herself under control again, Meera tried explaining to Benjen. “Yes and no,” she answered his question, meeting his eyes as she did. “Yes, it was because of something he said, but no, it wasn't the actual words. It was what they reminded me of. Bran told me the rest of his vision... Jon lives again, by some sorcery neither of us has heard of before.” Bran's uncle's face gave nothing away to her as she scrutinised it.  
Meera came clean to Benjen, dropping her eyes as she did. “I wanted to be happy for Bran, truly... but all I could think of was Jojen's face when he died,” she admitted. “I didn't want to ruin things for Bran, so I came out here.”

The dead man placed a frigid hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him once more, touched by his gesture. “I understand, Meera. You miss your brother, and now Bran has something special that you can never have – his brother back. You want to be happy for Bran because you love him. But you resent it all the same... because you wish it were your brother, not Jon. That doesn't make you terrible, it just makes you human.”

Meera mulled that over in her head. She knew Benjen did understand at least part of how she felt. He'd lost both of his brothers and his sister too. “I suppose that's true,” she replied cautiously. The Crannogwoman wiped at the tears that were freezing on her cheeks with her sleeve. “I feel wretched about it all the same... Please, I beg you, don't tell Bran that I wasn't happy for him.” The Black Brother swore to her that he would not.

He stood and offered Meera a hand up. “Come back to the cave, these woods are not safe for the living to linger in anymore,” Benjen warned her. She accepted his hand up and followed him back to the cave.

+++++++++++++

 _Meera is very lucky I found her,_ Benjen thought to himself. With the distance she'd run from the cave, the young woman from the Neck would more than likely have never found her way back. It was simply a fact.  
The former First Ranger knew these woods well; Howland's girl did not. In the snow, every tree was the same unless you had studied them well. It was far too easy to get turned around. In fact, Meera's keening and wailing had more than likely been her salvation; yet it could just as easily been her doom if the White Walkers and their army of the dead had been nearby. All the same, if not for her extremely vocal expression of grief, Benjen would likely never have found his nephew's protector before she froze; if not to death, then certainly to losing some fingers or toes.

It was odd for Benjen, to find someone he could relate to, someone who knew how he felt. Perhaps it was one reason why his nephew and the young Crannogwoman had gravitated to each other so much, in addition to their shared journey and its accompanying hardships.  
His mind turned down a different path, for what reason though he couldn't say. He thought back over all the things he had heard Meera say over the past several days. It finally dawned on him exactly what he'd been missing up until that point. She wasn't just upset because she'd killed her own brother. It had been the first time Meera had taken another person's life. _Gods,_ Benjen thought, _that has to be one of the worst situations to take your first life._ To be fair, there were no good ones, only bad and worse.

He came to a halt just before the cave and gently took the young woman by the arm to stop her as well. She was startled and looked at him uncertainly. Benjen drew her aside from the cave entrance. He didn't want to ask his question there, just in case their voices carried.  
“Can I ask you a question, Meera?” The young woman stared at him, clearly unsure how to answer the man; he was more than a little uncertain himself. “I, uh... it's a bit of a personal question.” Now she eyed him strangely. “I mean, it might upset you...” Meera sighed and nodded her head. He could tell she was reluctant and just as embarrassed as he was.  
Benjen chose to just be blunt. He'd never been good at honey-coating his words anyway, and it just made him sound false. Lowering his voice, the Night's Watchman asked, “Meera, your brother... he was your first, wasn't he?” She was confused now. “The first person you'd ever killed?” Meera dropped her gaze and nodded slowly. Benjen lightly squeezed her arm where he held her, and he saw that the act of compassion had surprised Howland's girl. She looked up at him again. “I'm sorry,” he sincerely apologised, “I didn't mean to hurt you, I was just making certain I hadn't misunderstood what you've been telling me.”

She blinked back tears, then shook her head. “Not just the first,” Meera corrected in a whisper. Bran's uncle noticed she was breathing a little faster than normal. “The only.” She then spoke a little stronger. “Jojen is the only person I've killed with my own hands.” The Crannogwoman stared down at her trembling hands.  
“Look at me,” she sighed bitterly. “The first woman in thousands of years to kill a White Walker, and I fall apart thinking of my brother.” Benjen had not missed the extra information his companion had let slip. Though she had said it more to herself than him, the Black Brother was impressed that Meera had managed to kill a White Walker. _She has her father's humility, as well as his courage,_ he noted, but kept the observation to himself; there were more important things to address.

“I'm sorry,” Benjen apologised again. “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but that would be a lie. I still remember the first time I took another life. Twenty years, and I still remember his face like it was this morning.” Meera looked distraught. He quietly cursed, which startled her again. The elder Stark apologised a third time. “Forgive me, I seem to be singularly bad at conversation this afternoon.”

That brought a flicker of a smile to her face. “You're forgiven, Benjen,” she told him. “I know you meant no harm, and I cannot hold your forwardness against you.” Meera shivered. “We should go inside... 'Winter is coming' and all that.”

Benjen smiled at her usage of House Stark's ancient words. “Yes,” he agreed. “Winter _is_ coming.”

+++++++++++++

Bran was very pleased to see the both of them when they returned together. “I was worried you'd both gone and left me,” he joked. Meera and Benjen exchanged a glance. It was then that he noticed Meera's eyes were somewhat red and puffy. As if she'd been crying, he realised. Wondering what could have upset her, the pieces began to come together in Bran's mind. He silently cursed himself. _Seven hells, I'm an idiot._

Meera was looking quizzically at him now, and the younger Stark realised his face had exposed his line of thinking to both his companions. “Oh...” he said aloud, putting the realisation into words. “I really should have thought through what I said first, huh?” Bran reproached himself.  
She was just standing there, looking rather confused. Uncle Benjen was as unreadable as ever. “I should have thought about how you might react to my vision, Meera,” he continued. “It was very insensitive to you... I should have realised it would make you think of Jojen.”

His friend was still standing at the cave entrance, only now she was agape. “How...?” Meera asked, incredulous.

“...did I know?” Bran finished her question. “Your face.” He felt he needed to elaborate more. “Your eyes are red, I assume from crying,” the young Northman explained. “It had to be something I said because you and Uncle Benjen don't look upset with each other. So it had to be what I said about Jon. Which means the only explanation could be that you were upset because I reminded you that your brother was dead.” Dropping his head, Bran searched for the right words. “I'm sorry, Meera,” he apologised. “I know you'd do anything to get Jojen back.”

+++++++++++++ 

The heir to Greywater Watch was amazed at how quickly and accurately her friend had deduced what had happened. “I should be the one apologising, Bran, not you,” she countered. He raised his head again to look her in the eyes. “It was selfish of me, to resent you for fate smiling upon your family for one of the first times in years. I was ashamed because I thought I wasn't happy for your good fortune. It's not that I wasn't glad for you. I was. It's just my anger, shame and resentment drowned it out. I had to get away, to clear my head, and let it out... on my own.”  
Meera thought he looked a little overwhelmed now. She walked over and sat beside the man that she cared so deeply for. Then she moved her arm across her body to rest her hand on his forearm. He tensed up at Meera's touch. Bran looked down at where she touched him, licking his lips and trembling ever so slightly. The Crannogwoman took her hand back and used it to gesture at Benjen. “Your uncle found me, though, and convinced me to come back here, where it's relatively safe.”

She didn't know what else to say, so they sat in silence. It was Bran who spoke first. “I forgive you,” he told her, raising his head to meet her eyes again. “Do you forgive me?”

Meera couldn't help but smile back at him. “Of course I forgive you,” she laughed. “You're very hard to stay angry with.” Her smile was infectious it seemed, as Bran apparently couldn't help returning it either.

“I need to go fetch that wood,” the Night's Watchman interjected. Meera regarded him as he walked off. She wondered if the other Stark men spoke as little as Benjen, or if it was a side effect of what the Children of the Forest had done to prevent him turning into a wight. Based on what little Bran had said about his uncle, the woman had a feeling it was the former rather than the latter. Still, she appreciated people who didn't mince words, even if it meant they felt they had little to actually say.

After Benjen had left the cave, Bran turned his head toward her. “You mentioned earlier, that you wanted to talk to me about something when I'd finished telling you my vision,” he reminded her.

Meera blushed. “Oh, it wasn't really important,” she prevaricated. Bran gave her a look that told her that he wasn't buying it. She sighed. “Fine... I wanted to know... I mean, I wanted to ask, um...” Anxious now, she just blurted it out. “You were imagining me without clothes on earlier, weren't you?” she accused. Now the younger Stark blushed, and he fidgeted, mumbling a denial. Meera thought him rather adorable when he was like this. “I'll take that as a yes then,” she giggled.

Bran looked like a trapped animal to her. It was a look she knew all too well. “You're not angry at me?” he asked timidly.

“A little,” she admitted. “But I'm also a bit flattered. I found it a bit creepy at the time, mind you.” Meera realised that she was enjoying his discomfort a little too much. “So, did you like it?” she teased. A smirk crept in at the corner of her mouth. Bran turned an even darker shade of red and looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. “It's fun to tease you,” Meera added with another giggle. “You have the cutest expressions when you're embarrassed.”

+++++++++++++

Too late, Bran realised her game. “You are so mean...” he declared earnestly. He then smiled broadly and burst out laughing. Meera joined him. “You really aren't mad at me, are you?” he asked again, still surprised.

“Only if you make a habit of it,” she said playfully. Bran wondered, not for the first time, why the gods had such a cruel sense of humour. Fate had given him such a wonderful woman to fall in love with, who also was in love with him. Only he couldn't provide Meera everything that a whole man could. She must have sensed it. “What's wrong, Bran?” Meera asked concerned.

Bran didn't know where to start. “I was just thinking about the gods and fate. Sometimes I think the gods have a terrible sense of humour,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his head nervously. “I don't have my legs, but they've made me the Three-Eyed Raven.”  
He paused. “They've given me a fantastic woman to love, who loves me back,” Bran admitted, as he reached out and gently stroked Meera's face. “Yet, they also seem to have cursed us... Maester Luwin said I'm incapable of having children, which means I can't give you the one thing you need for the survival of your house,” he told her. Bran thought Meera was taking what he was saying rather well. “I don't want to be selfish and keep that from you, especially if you want it.”

Her response absolutely surprised Bran; she leant in and kissed him passionately. When Meera broke from the kiss, she lingered next to his mouth a moment, seemingly savouring the taste of his lips. She pulled back and smiled at him. Bran was shocked. Meera shushed him, playfully saying, “Stop talking, Brandon Stark... or I might have to do that again.” The youth smiled back at her, his mind spinning around inside his head, deliriously happy. He didn't think he'd mind at all if she did.

+++++++++++++

 _Of course, I may just do it again anyway, because I liked it,_ she thought slyly to herself. Aloud, Meera told him, “I think my family would understand, and honestly I'd never really thought about having children. It seemed like something to think about closer to marriage.” She rested her hand against Bran's chest and looked at her hand. “When I was thinking the other day, I realised you probably wanted children of your own, based on how you cared for Rickon…”  
Raising her head to look him in the eyes, Meera tearfully admitted, “... and I accidentally overheard you talking to your uncle the other day.” Her prince looked hurt. She hung her head in shame and took her hand off his chest.

Bran grabbed her wrist. “Don't... don't apologise,” he begged Meera. Her friend looked confused for a few moments, then continued more confidently. “I don't care about that... in fact, I think a part of me is happy you overheard,” he confessed. Looking her in the eye, Bran declared, “All I want is you, Meera Reed... The only thing I think I've ever wanted more is my legs back.” He paused before drawing her closer to him. “But they were part of the price I had to pay to find you... and some days I think I can live with that.”  
He pulled Meera in for another kiss. She let him and happily returned it. The Crannogwoman decided that Bran was a good kisser, but that might have been due to a lack of anyone to compare to. She mentally shrugged. It really didn't matter.

When they both stopped to catch their breath, Meera mentioned, “Your Uncle Benjen – he'll be back soon.” She stroked Bran's cheek and smiled. “I don't think he'd approve if he found us together like this.”

The young man laughed lightly. “No, I suppose not,” he agreed. She was surprised by what Bran said next. “Do you think your father would object if I asked him for your hand?”

Meera thought long and hard about Bran's question. Finally, she answered, “If you asked him in person, I don't think he would say no... but there's no way we'd be able to get to Greywater Watch without help. A raven might be too dangerous... If Father could come to us, it might work.”  
She pontificated some more. “He might be upset about not having any more Reeds, but I think Father would be willing to overlook that because of the love he has for your family. Actually, I think he might have mentioned wanting to marry Jojen to one of your sisters at one point...”

Her companion laughed heartily at that. “I could have seen him with Arya, maybe. The Neck seems like a place she'd appreciate. Sansa, on the other hand, would be absolutely miserable there. All she ever wanted, was to leave Winterfell and go south to court and hopefully marry a prince.”  
His recollection suddenly made him cry. “Sansa got what she thought she wanted, anyway... gods, she could be annoying. Honestly, I liked her least of my siblings, but even so, I love her and miss her and pray she's alright. Arya was the complete opposite, though. The two of us are closest in age, and we had a... rivalry, I suppose you'd call it. But she loved me fiercely. Protectively. Robb told me that Arya only agreed to leave for King's Landing because Mother refused to leave my bedside.”  
Bran wiped the tears off his face with the back of his sleeve. He smiled and told Meera, “You and Jojen reminded me of Arya and I. Well, without a significant amount of fighting anyway.” The girl from the swamps smiled back. She liked that Bran had finally opened up to her, even if it was only about his sisters. It helped her to understand him better.

“It sounds like you think I have a bit in common with Arya,” Meera teased.

The younger Stark laughed again. “Yeah,” he said playfully. “You'd either get along great or try to kill each other, I think. But if you do ever meet, I'd prefer the first option. I don't want another showdown like the one between you and Osha.”

“Oh, so you think I'm similar to your wildling friend now, do you?” she joked, and playfully slapped his arm. “You prefer girls who aren't ladylike?”

Bran blushed. “Um, no... I didn't... I meant...” he stammered.

Meera held her finger up to his lips. “Sshh, Bran, I know what you meant,” she soothed, “I'm just teasing you.”

+++++++++++++

Bran gazed lovingly into his best friend's eyes. He took her hand, the one she was holding up to his lips, in his and kissed her fingers. “I love you,” he told her, yet again.

Meera giggled. “I know,” she commented, “and I love you too.”

The heir to Winterfell decided to put his tunic back on and asked his friend – his _love_ – for help with it. She fetched it for him and helped him into it. As Bran laced it back up, he thought he caught Meera looking at him, seemingly a bit disappointed that the number of clothes he was wearing was increasing. But he dismissed that as wishful thinking.

+++++++++++++

Benjen found it disconcerting upon his return to the cave. The pair of them looked suspiciously happy. _Very_ happy. So happy, in fact, he wondered if they'd been up to mischief together; and he didn't mean in a platonic way, either. He tried to shake the thought from his mind, but he couldn't. The man of the Watch sighed as he added his bundle of wood to the firewood pile. “Have you two been misbehaving while I've been gone?” he queried them.

His nephew stunned him with his response. Ned's boy smirked provocatively and, as deadpan as he could manage, said, “Why, yes, Uncle Benjen... we decided we couldn't wait any longer, so Meera ravished me right here on the floor.”

Howland's girl looked horrified and immediately started protesting her innocence. “I swear to you, Bran is making things up,” she told Benjen, seeming sincere. “Nothing happened... nothing at all.”

+++++++++++++

Bran couldn't help himself any longer, and he burst out laughing. “You should see the looks on your faces,” he managed to say between fits of laughter. 

Meera punched him in the arm. Not very forcefully, just hard enough to let him know she wasn't happy. “Not funny, Bran,” she seethed. “What if your uncle believed you?”

The young lordling had calmed down a bit now. “Relax, Meera,” he placated her, smiling as he spoke. “I think Uncle Benjen realises that we didn't have time to besmirch anyone's honour.” Bran became serious. “Not that I would ever even dream of doing that.”

The Crannogwoman gave his arm a little push. “You are so wicked, Bran,” she informed him. “If it were actually safe, I'd insist you go outside until you could behave.”

+++++++++++++

Truth be told, Meera wasn't hugely angry at Bran. After all, he'd successfully deflected Benjen's question. She just was surprised at how randomly her friend – the man she desired to wed – had come up with something so plausibly naughty. The girl from the swamps realised, that what bothered her the most about Bran's scenario, was that she probably wouldn't have minded doing exactly what he said. That realisation scared her.  
She got up and sat on the opposite side of the fire to her prince, with the firewood. Bran seemed to understand that she needed to be out of reach of him, physically, for the time being.

Benjen pulled out an animal carcass from under his cloak. “I couldn't find any rabbits, but I found this squirrel,” he told them. “You should finish the rabbit off today, and have the squirrel for breakfast.”

Meera wasn't going to complain. In all honesty, she probably could have eaten the horse by now, if they hadn't needed it for Bran to ride on. “Do you have anything I can use as a cook-pot, Benjen?” she asked. The dead man nodded, left, then returned momentarily with a suitable metal pot. She skinned the squirrel and made a crude grill out of twigs from the pile of wood for burning. Then the skilled huntress gutted the animal, catching some of the blood in the pot.  
The offal she put to the side to separate. She kept the lungs, kidneys and liver, dicing them finely with her knife. The intestines she got rid of, but she decided to keep the heart. That got diced too. What little meat the Crannogwoman could get off the head, got diced and put on the small pile of squirrel innards in the pot. The skull went on the waste pile, as she really didn't feel like going to the trouble of getting the brain out.  
Its tiny tongue got put on her makeshift grill to turn into jerky. Meera took the legs off to cook like chicken legs. Most of the rest of the meat she sliced for jerky, save for the rump which she kept and diced for the stew. Next, the young woman put the pot over the fire, and let the meat cook in the blood for a while. After the blood had gone mostly clear, she added some of the water from the waterskin and left the stew to cook for some more time.

In the meantime, Bran's uncle had found her some salt, so Meera used the time the stew was cooking to cure the jerky meat and the squirrel hide with the salt. Benjen appeared to approve of her methods. “At home, rabbits were a delicacy, and squirrels practically unheard of,” she reminisced.

“What did you eat then?” her prince asked her.

Meera laughed and replied, “There are an awful lot of frogs in the Neck, Bran.” He looked thoroughly disgusted at that. She couldn't help but laugh again at Bran's reaction. “Seriously, though, we only ever had frogs when we were in a pinch... we just don't usually make a habit of dispelling the 'frog-eater' reputation we've ended up with.”  
She thought about how to describe the way they kept animals and got their food in the Neck. “We don't farm, not like the rest of you do anyway. We've not got the right soil for it. Ours is too wet and brackish for food crops, and lichen really doesn't get you by on a regular basis. Down towards the southern end of the Neck, near the Trident, we could theoretically get some grains to grow.” Meera scowled. “Unfortunately, the Freys come and run us off of the land, claiming that if it's farmable, the land is theirs. So we just don't bother anymore.” She paused to compose herself. It did no good for anyone dwelling on House Frey's mistreatment of her people.  
“Some animals get farmed too,” the heir to the Neck continued, after she'd calmed herself with a few deep breaths. “Pigs and chickens and the like. Small animals you can feed on grain.” She stirred the pot again. “The grain we get by trading with the Flints of Flint's Finger. You have to go hunting west towards Cape Kraken, past where the swamps turn into marshes, if you want rabbit or squirrel. It's certainly not a forest, but it is wooded and a lot less boggy than down by the Greywater. We pretty much only go out that far if we're going to trade anyway.”  
Meera smiled. “Occasionally, we get a brave or foolhardy lizard-lion come too close to the castle. Taking down one of them is a challenge, but it's worth it. The meat on it will last you double the time a cow of equivalent size will. It's very rich meat, beef is so bland by comparison. And the leather... lizard-lion leather is amazing; strong, yet supple. Good for making armour out of.”

Bran looked absolutely mesmerised by her descriptions. “You've... eaten your own house sigil?”

Remembering some of the hunts she'd gone on with her Lord Father returned some joy to her heart. Meera nodded. “I've killed a few in my time, too,” she fondly recalled. “Father knew that Jojen would never be a great fighter, that he was destined for other things. Well, that, and Jojen never showed much interest in anything martial. I, on the other hand, was never shy about my interest in weapons or hunting. So my father taught me instead. Reluctantly, at first. But when he saw how well I took to it, and how disinterested I was in lady-like activities, Father knew he'd made the right choice.”  
She chuckled. “Mother had been furious at first. But she realised that I was never going to be a traditional lady, and embraced it quickly enough,” Meera confessed.

Bran smiled at that. “Apart from that last bit, that sounds like Arya, too,” he told her. “Mother was forever despairing that Arya was never going to be a proper lady. Father didn't encourage her wildness, but he didn't discourage her either. I think that frustrated my mother a little. But Mother and Septa Mordane made sure Arya was at least made to do lady-like activities, despite the fact that she hated them.”  
Now her companion laughed. “One time, I overheard Arya complaining to Jon, about how it was unfair that boys got to do fun things and girls had to do dumb things like sewing. Sansa and the rest of the girls had apparently been teasing Arya about how bad she was at needlework. I believe I heard Arya tell Jon where she actually wanted to put her sewing, but I really shouldn't repeat it. Jon talked her out of that, though.” He'd stopped laughing but continued to grin instead.  
“A few days later, Sansa's chamber smelt disgusting, but no one could figure out why for ages. It turns out that Arya had got her revenge by cutting out a piece of Sansa's mattress, stuffing some dung in the hole, and crudely sewing it up,” Bran recalled. “Arya could be so wicked sometimes if you got on her bad side – and Sansa was on her bad side a lot.”

Meera smiled. “I think I like your sister, Bran,” she confided.

Benjen had been silent for most of their conversation, but now he chose to interject. “Aye, Sansa is just like your Lady Mother, Bran,” he affirmed. “But Arya, she always troubled your father. He didn't discourage her from her behaviour because he saw what our own Lord Father had done by discouraging your Aunt Lyanna from pursuing her interests. Yet, he didn't encourage Arya either, because he worried that she was too much like Lyanna. A wild she-wolf. That she'd be untamable if encouraged.”

To Meera, her prince seemed morose after his uncle had spoken, as if the mention of his aunt had somehow deflated him. “Why did you, and Father especially, never talk about Aunt Lyanna, Uncle Benjen?” Bran asked. The young woman thought his expression was now more one of hurt. He kept going. “I had a vision with the Three-Eyed Raven, of Winterfell when you and Father were boys. You were sparring, and Aunt Lyanna rode in on a white horse.” Bran smiled sadly. “Father told her to stop showing off.” Suddenly, he got angry. “I think I learned more from seeing that vision than I ever had from you or Father,” he accused.

++++++++++++

The former First Ranger hadn't been expecting quite this line of questioning from Ned's boy. He sighed. “You need to know some things, Bran,” Benjen informed his nephew. “Some things in life are so traumatic, so painful, that you think if you never talk about them, the pain can't come back and hurt you. Your father and I, we were the only ones left. Everyone else had been taken from us. I couldn't even bring myself to go down into the crypts, not even once. Not for years after you were born. It was only the visit before last, I finally was able to.” Even now the pain was still raw. He had to pause for a moment before continuing. “Your father took me. We just stood there, in silence, for what seemed like hours. Then we returned. I thanked him when I left for the Wall. He knew why, without me having to say. I intended to visit the crypts last time I came to Winterfell, but between the demands of the King and your fall, I never had the time.” Benjen hadn't meant to tell Bran so much, but still, he couldn't stop talking.  
“I know what it's like to lose family at a young age,” the dead man told his kinsman. “I was not much older than you are now, when the Mad King burned my father alive, while he made my Brandon watch and strangle himself to death trying to free our Lord Father. Lyanna's death, as well; the three of them broke your father. Especially Lyanna's. He was with her when she died. I never asked him, and he never told me, but something about that day haunted him the rest of his life.” The Black Brother momentarily looked at Meera. Howland Reed had been there as well the day Lyanna had died, he recalled. Perhaps that was another reason why the Crannogman hadn't left the Neck in so many years? Besides raising his children...

Bran seemed to think through his uncle's words. “I'm sorry,” he apologised, after a time. “It's just that Mother talked about her family from time to time but Father didn't. Ever. We knew it made him sad, but it hurt that he couldn't open up about that part of his life. Even Mother seemed sad that Father wouldn't talk to her about it either.”

Benjen knew Ned had felt guilt over not being able to save their sister, much as he himself had. “Your father blamed himself for Lyanna's death, Bran,” he gently spoke. “Even though nothing he did or didn't do could have changed her fate.” The man of the Night's Watch looked at Meera again, this time for longer. “Sometimes, guilt can overwhelm you, even if you know you couldn't have changed a thing." She dipped her head, acknowledging his subtle reminder of their prior conversation.

+++++++++++

Bran hadn't meant to get so worked up. After what Uncle Benjen had told him, he felt awful about having yelled at him. He also noticed Meera was checking the stew, politely pretending that she hadn't been a party to the most recent part of the conversation. “Food's ready,” she announced, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen. Their companion from the Neck moved and placed the pot next to Bran, then went back to her makeshift jerky rack. His uncle suddenly announced he was going to make sure the horse was bedded down for the evening. He left the cave, saying he'd be back shortly.  
The young lordling let the pot cool for a time. He watched silently as Meera rummaged around in her bag for the rest of the rabbit meat. She ate cold what little meat remained. When Bran was satisfied that the stew had cooled enough, he picked up the pot and started to eat. He decided that 'stew' may have been a bit generous a label for his dinner. It was more of a thin soup, with floating meaty chunks. Not that Bran minded. “This is good, Meera,” he praised. “You should have some too.”

Meera smiled. “No, that was all for you, Bran,” she insisted.

“Are you sure?” Bran asked. “It's really nice...”

His love laughed in reply. “Yes, I'm sure... the rest of the rabbit should get me by, until breakfast.”

Bran felt a little guilty that Meera was letting him have the majority of the food. But she'd refused his offer of sharing twice. He mentally shrugged and continued eating his soupy squirrel chunks. When he'd finished off the meat, Bran drank the soup too.

++++++++++++

Meera took the pot off of her friend after he'd emptied it. She put it under the waterfall, not quite half-filling it. Taking it to the cave entrance, she rinsed the pot and poured the water off into the snow. Darkness had fallen outside, and Bran's uncle returned with the horse at the same time the Crannogwoman was about to head back into the cave. “Thank you for the pot, Benjen,” she said, as she handed it back to him. “I think I'm going to turn in. Should I put the fire out now, or will you take care of it later?”

“I'll take care of it later, after I'm finished out here,” he replied, waving it away as being of little consequence to him. “You two get some sleep.”

The elder Stark stayed out to do whatever it was he was doing, while the heir to Greywater Watch went back inside. Bran looked half asleep already. After putting the jerky in her bag, Meera helped the younger Stark get ready for bed. When that was done, she joined him in the furs. Rolling onto her side, the Crannogwoman got as close to her prince as she thought she could get away with. Meera propped up her head with her hand. To her great surprise, Bran made her come closer still. He was staring very intently at her. “Were you really angry at me earlier, for what I said to Uncle Benjen?” he asked hesitantly.

“Briefly,” she answered him with a smile. “I told you before, you're impossible to stay angry at for very long.” With her free hand, she idly started playing with the laces on Bran's tunic as she talked. Meera looked at a point past him as she continued talking. “I have a confession to make, Bran,” she started nervously. “I realised afterwards, that one of the reasons I got so angry at you, was because I actually liked the scenario you suggested had happened – and I was mad at myself for liking it.”

Bran turned bright red. “You... liked it?” he said incredulously. “I... I had no idea... I just said the first thing that came into my head, to throw off his line of questioning.” He smiled cheekily at Meera. “Maybe I should take you up on that some time. Although, maybe somewhere that isn't as uncomfortable as a cave floor would be better.”

She playfully slapped his belly. “You are so terrible! You know that, right?” Bran just giggled in response. “We should really go to sleep.”

+++++++++++

When Benjen came in to check the fire, he found the two of them asleep. Meera was snuggled up to Bran and using his shoulder as a pillow. Ned's boy had the arm Howland's girl was sleeping on wrapped around her shoulder. His other hand was on his abdomen, fingers entwined with hers, as she draped an arm across his chest. The Night's Watchman shook his head. They were cute, but he feared what the future might hold for them.  
_I'm definitely going to have to keep a closer eye on these two,_ Benjen decided. The horse was secure and asleep, not far outside the entrance to the cave. So the dead man chose to stay awhile inside the cave. Adding more wood, he then stoked the flames. Meera stirred slightly in her sleep. Over the next several hours, Benjen watched both the fire and the pair sleeping in each other's arms.  
He left before sunrise to go hunting, hoping that today he could find more than a single squirrel. As the elder Stark stalked for some game, he wondered briefly if his sister had been as happy with Rhaegar as Bran seemed to be with Meera. He thought of Jon, and the terrible secret Ned had taken to his grave about Jon's mother; wondering, not for the first time, why the gods gave men such lustful passions if they frowned on bastards. At least Bran wouldn't have that problem, according to the maesters. Yet, Benjen worried that where there was a will, there was a way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter took much longer than I anticipated to be ready to post. Computer crashes and then internet issues abounded. Life also conspired to keep me from writing/editing/polishing. [It's a long story but the short version is this: I've been interstate helping a family member, who is involved in a custody dispute with their ex-spouse over their mutual child, and the issue has come to a head now that Christmas is coming.]  
> Needless to say, I'm a bit stressed and even writing (one of my go-to stress relievers) hasn't been helping too much, as I've struggled to concentrate and/or get into "the zone". I'd planned to get Part 1 done by Christmas but I'm not confident of that happening anymore, nor do I expect to finish the editing on the next chapter for at least two weeks (maybe even three).  
> My original plan was to switch to two-weekly intervals after posting this chapter, but it might end up being a little longer between them. Depending on where the story naturally splits, there will be four to six chapters after the next one; up to four chapters of approximately this length and up to two shorter ones. So don't despair or give up hope, this is still being updated.
> 
> Writing is coming...   
> Piggy :D


	7. Day Seven

Bran slept through the night, for the first time in days. Waking up, he realised the sun had risen already. Then it registered in the young man's mind, that Meera was still asleep beside him. He canted his head slightly and leant forward to kiss her on the top of the head. Laying his head back down, Bran stared at the ceiling. Not having had a vision, all he could think about was the events of the previous night.  
Despite the fact that Meera seemed keen about the prospect, Bran wondered if he'd spoken too soon, in his mentioning the possibility of asking Lord Reed for permission to marry his daughter. The greenseer found that the longer he thought about it, the more his doubts grew. He worried that he wouldn't be able to make her happy in the long term. Or worse, what would happen if one of them died in the great war to come.

The boy – for he truly was not yet a man, not really – realised then the possibility that frightened him the most: Meera dying to protect him. Bran knew that if it ever came to it, she would sacrifice herself for him. Jojen had made that all too clear in the vision they shared two nights ago. The thought of her dying terrified him so much, Bran found himself struggling to breathe. He felt like he was being crushed. If he'd had his legs, Bran would have gotten up and run out the cave.  
It just served as yet another reminder to him, that he was broken. Brandon the Broken. Brandon the Burdensome. He worked the fingers free from Meera's grip, on his hand that was on his belly. Balling that hand – his left – into a fist, he started to punch the ground beside him with the underside of his fist. Bran prayed he wouldn't wake his friend. The last thing he wanted, was for her to see him like this. Angry, depressed, and full of self-loathing.  
Meera, thankfully, didn't wake. When Bran had calmed down somewhat, he realised his hand was throbbing. Facing his head away from the woman he loved, the Northman began to cry silently. He desperately wished that he could be a proper man for Meera. _It's not right,_ Bran thought, _I should be the one protecting her._ It made him feel unmanned, to know that he couldn't keep her safe. He heard his uncle coming into the cave and quickly wiped his tears away with the back of his sleeve.

+++++++++++++

Benjen wasn't surprised to find his brother's son awake. He was surprised, however, to see Bran upset and obviously trying to hide it. The elder Stark thought it best not to pry, not yet at least. He noticed Meera hadn't woken yet, as well. Ned's boy seemed to be almost uncomfortable with how close Howland's girl was sleeping to him. Benjen realised that was the answer. He found that odd though.  
Briefly, the Night's Watchman greeted his nephew, then set about skinning and gutting his catch. Because he didn't think it likely they'd be having an open fire for a day or two at least, Benjen made a large batch of jerky. He took the legs of the rabbits and squirrels that he'd caught and roasted them over the fire. Meera woke, smelling the cooking meat. As she got up, Bran's uncle noticed his kinsman was pretending to still be asleep.  
_Something definitely happened between those two last night,_ Benjen thought. Bran was avoiding Meera, and yet she still smiled at him warmly, not realising the lad wasn't actually asleep. That pretty much confirmed the Black Brother's suspicions. They'd definitely done something that his nephew was ashamed of now. Meera borrowed his pot again and did the same as the night before. The offal and the tiny bit of leftover meat on the bones went into the pot. Benjen studied her carefully. She didn't seem ashamed at all. He found that very bizarre.

“Did you sleep well last night, Meera?” the elder Stark probed.

“I did,” she replied, practically beaming, “and Bran seems to have slept through the night, as well. Which is good.” The Crannogwoman stirred the pot a few times, before adding, “Why do you ask?”

Bran's uncle tried to think of a plausible answer. “No reason,” he responded. “You just seem in a really good mood today.”

Howland's girl blushed. “Is it that obvious?” she asked quietly. Benjen only nodded, thinking she was about to confess to what the two of them had really been up to last night. Her response surprised him though. “Bran told me that he wanted to ask my father... He wants to ask my father for permission to marry me. When we've gone home, I mean.”

“Oh!” the dead man managed to say in surprise. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. A silence hung briefly in the air, as the cogs turned a little more in Benjen's mind. He didn't want to make an accusation, but neither could he let it go. “Is that all that happened?” he gently prodded.

Meera had turned a deeper shade of red. She was now stirring the pot nervously. “I... we talked a little... after that,” the girl from the swamps mentioned, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong and was afraid of being punished. Benjen didn't say anything, but he knew she would say more. “It was just talking,” she said, like she was trying to convince herself.

The former First Ranger sought to make his words as gentle as possible. “Did you lay with him?” he asked softly. Meera's head snapped up to look at Benjen in surprise and in her eyes he saw her horror as she realised the truth. “No, I see you didn't... but you wanted to.” She looked away again and stared at the pot.

++++++++++++

“I think I would have,” Meera confessed in a whisper, “if Bran had asked.” She'd acknowledged her shame aloud now. Nothing could undo that. “You must think I'm a terrible person, some sort of seductress trying to corrupt your nephew.” She was on the verge of crying now.

Benjen surprised her though. “I think nothing of the sort,” he said with conviction. “ I believe that you're a normal woman, who's developed entirely understandable feelings for a man who you've spent a long time with.” She looked at her father's one-time friend, trying to see if he was being truthful.

“Really?” she asked. Her elder companion nodded. Meera didn't know what to say. She still felt like she'd done something wrong. Worse, she felt like she'd been encouraging Bran to do wrong as well. The girl from the swamps hadn't even thought about how they were naturally gravitating toward each other, more quickly the longer they spent together. Not until Benjen had made it explicitly clear to her just now.

++++++++++++

Bran felt horrible, realising just how close they'd come to the precipice the previous night. He hadn't known just how intense Meera's feelings truly were. It took most of his energy not to reveal that he was really not asleep, as the heir to Winterfell's first and strongest reaction was to comfort the woman he cared so deeply for. But that was quickly replaced, by the fears he'd had earlier. If anything, Meera and Benjen's conversation had shown Bran that he'd let things go too far already. He resolved to try and cool things off somewhat with her.

––---––––––––––––– 

The younger Stark needn't have worried though, as Meera spent most of the rest of the day awkwardly avoiding him. Or at least attempting to. They'd shared the meaty soup for breakfast, but neither had really said anything. Benjen had given him a look, which Bran realised meant his uncle was completely aware that he hadn't actually gone back to sleep when Meera woke up. That had made Bran feel like he'd disappointed his kinsman, which did nothing to ease his nascent feelings of inadequacy.  
He also found that his left hand continued to hurt, so much so that the lordling couldn't grasp the pommel of the saddle with it. So he favoured his right hand all day. About mid-afternoon, the Night's Watchman had sent the Crannogwoman ahead of the horse – about 50 yards, or so – ostensibly to scout. Bran knew it was really so Uncle Benjen could talk privately with him. Meera seemed to think that too, by her expression. Nonetheless, she obeyed and kept out of earshot. The elder Stark drew close and led the horse slowly forward. As he did so, he turned to his nephew. “I know I shouldn't have said it,” Bran cut his uncle off before he could speak.

Benjen gave him another look. “Apparently, there are many things you shouldn't have said,” the Black Brother told his young relative. “Would you care to be more specific?”

Bran felt his uncle's implicit criticism. “The joke...” he admitted, “and especially asking her father about marriage. I never should have mentioned it.”

+++++++++++++

“Why? Did you change your mind, or did you not mean it in the first place?” Benjen asked, more harshly than he'd intended. Bran looked at him, mouth hanging open, shocked by his uncle's bluntness. The man silently cursed himself for his lack of tact. “Forgive me,” he said aloud. “That came out more sarcastic than I intended.”

“There's nothing to forgive, Uncle,” Bran replied. He sighed, and Benjen noticed him wince slightly when he knocked his left hand on the pommel. “I meant it when I said it last night.” The lad appeared to search for the right words. “But this morning... this morning when I'd thought about it...” he answered, confirming the elder Stark's suspicions. “I... I don't know... I just shouldn't have said anything.”

“What's wrong with your hand, Bran?” Benjen said bluntly. He had an inkling, but he wanted confirmation before confronting the boy.

Bran turned away, mumbling, “Nothing.” Benjen knew his nephew was lying. So he lightly grabbed Bran's left arm, to get a better look. Ned's boy hadn't been expecting it and cried out in pain. Meera had been out of sight but reappeared very quickly after she heard her friend.

Seeing the bruises on the bottom of the lad's hand, Benjen got angry. He dropped Bran's arm, causing him to yelp in pain again. The Black Brother resolved to apologise later, but right now he was far too upset. “That is not nothing, Brandon Stark!” he yelled. His nephew seemed ready to cry, and Howland's girl looked rather frightened of the dead man again. “Gods be good,” Benjen swore, “we've enough worries already, without you hurting yourself too!”

Ned's son refused to make eye contact with either Meera or his uncle, hiding his hand from sight again. “Don't want to talk about it,” he declared angrily. Now the Night's Watchman was very concerned, while the girl from the Neck looked equally confused and worried. The younger Stark's countenance had noticeably darkened. So none of them moved for a time, at an impasse with regards to how to proceed. Eventually, Benjen gave Meera a look and made a gesture with his head, indicating he wanted her out of earshot again. She reluctantly obliged.

When the Crannogwoman was sufficiently far away, the elder Stark confronted his nephew. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he demanded to know, as quietly as his anger would allow.

+++++++++++++

Bran couldn't hide his shock. He'd never heard his uncle use a cuss word before. “I... I don't know,” the young man replied honestly. “Sometimes, I get really upset... and hitting something makes me feel better.” He gestured at his legs. “I never had to before.” Sadness threatened to overwhelm him again. “Before I could run or climb, but now...” he trailed off. Finally, Bran whispered, “Now I just feel so useless sometimes, and I can't do anything about it.” 

His uncle sighed, and placed his hand gently on Bran's arm. “Oh, Bran! Your value is not based on your ability to walk,” Benjen comforted. “Some of my Black Brothers have afflictions considered, by most people, to make them less than. For example, the smithy at Castle Black only has one arm. Donal Noye, his name is. He had one arm when he took the Black, and he adapted to using one arm. Now, Donal produces the finest weapons and armour I've ever seen. Far better than any two-handed smith I've met.”  
The newest Three-Eyed Raven was about to protest that one arm was not the same as two legs, but the man wasn't finished yet. “Our Maester at Castle Black...” Benjen laughed as he reminisced, “you'd like him, I think. I'm certain he'd like you.” Winterfell's heir was somewhat intrigued now. He suspected he'd get along with most maesters, provided they were like Maester Luwin. Remembering his mentor saddened Bran. How they'd been forced to leave him behind at Winterfell, alone and bloodied in the godswood, under the heart-tree.  
The former First Ranger looked at his nephew. “Were you thinking of Maester Luwin, Bran?” Benjen asked softly. Bran nodded silently, shedding a tear which he hastily wiped away. "I'm sorry,” his uncle apologised. “Our Maester Aemon is quite like Maester Luwin – kind and selfless and wise...” The Night's Watchman added sadly, “He won't last this winter, though. Aemon would be nearly a hundred years old now.”

Bran took that in. He'd never heard of anyone living that long. It almost made the Maester sound like someone out of one of Old Nan's stories. Yet the young man knew his uncle wasn't exaggerating. Another thought crossed his mind. “Aemon,” he began, “as in...”

“Aemon the Dragonknight?” Benjen finished. “Yes, Maester Aemon was named for Aemon the Dragonknight. Some of the Black Brothers have this superstition that Maester Aemon has lived so long because he received all the years the Dragonknight didn't use because he died so young.” The younger Stark remembered what Maester Luwin had taught him, about the Targaryen kings and their Knights of the Kingsguard. Benjen asked, “Aemon the Dragonknight was a hero of yours, wasn't he?” Bran was pleased his uncle remembered that and smiled profusely, nodding at the same time.

“Ser Duncan the Tall, as well,” he answered. “Before my fall, all I wanted in life was to become a Knight of the Kingsguard.” After realising that would never happen, the greenseer remembered falling into a deep depression, even telling Robb at one point that he wished his fall had killed him. Twice. The second time immediately after his elder brother had admonished Bran for the first. He had never apologised to Robb for that, he realised. It saddened him to know he'd never be able to make up for hurting his brother like that.  
“When I woke from my fall, and Maester Luwin told me I'd never walk again,” Bran continued, “I was so angry.” Uncle Benjen held his silence after this admission. “At the gods, at Maester Luwin for telling me,” the youth admitted, starting to cry. “I was even angry at Father and Sansa and Arya for leaving without me. Even Jon, too. We'd always talked about seeing the Wall together.” He grew quiet, wracked with guilt. “But most of all, I was angry at Mother for abandoning me when I needed her the most... and I never even found out why she left. Now I'll never see her again, and I'll never be able to be forgiven by her.”

+++++++++++

It pained Bran's uncle to observe just how much being crippled during the King's visit had affected the boy. He seemed to have many conflicting emotions, but the man of the Night's Watch recognised a few of them. “You were angry at yourself for surviving your fall and being crippled,” he stated. Bran seemed to realise that it wasn't a question, and nodded in acknowledgement. His heart broke for his nephew.  
“Whatever your mother's reason for leaving you, she loved you absolutely Bran,” Benjen reassured. “From the moment you fell, until we left Winterfell, she never left your side. I knew Cat well enough to know she would have forgiven you for being angry at her.

“Are you sure?” his young kinsman asked, worried.

“Yes, I'm sure,” the Black Brother replied. He walked the horse slowly forward, silent for some moments. “I was telling you about Maester Aemon, wasn't I?” Benjen asked rhetorically. “It's almost ironic, actually. He tends the library at Castle Black, yet he's been blind since even before I took the Black. The wise man who can no longer use his own eyes to study wisdom. Yet, he's possibly the greatest asset the Night's Watch has had since he took the Black.” He mentally counted. “That would have been the same year Aegon the Unlikely ascended the Iron Throne, so seventy years, give or take.”

His nephew seemed to realise something. “Aegon the Unlikely had an elder brother named Aemon...” Bran had connected the dots but left off his conclusion in surprise.

Benjen smiled. “Yes, our Maester is that same Aemon Targaryen, the third eldest brother of King Aegon, fifth of his name, known by the epithet 'the Unlikely'.”

Bran seemed excited to know that someone, who'd lived through a part of history he idolised, still lived. “He'd have met Ser Duncan the Tall, then,” the boy enthused. “Ser Duncan was Lord Commander of Aegon's Kingsguard.” His nephew grew sad now. “He died during the Tragedy at Summerhall, trying to rescue his king,” he recounted. “Maester Luwin said that there were eyewitness accounts that stated he may have rescued others first, but upon realising the king wasn't among those who'd escaped, Ser Duncan plunged back into the flames never to be seen again... alive anyway.”

“Maester Aemon lamented to me once that, of all the days he'd lived, that was the blackest day for House Targaryen,” Benjen recalled. “Until Robert's Rebellion anyway.”

++++++++++++

“That must have been difficult for him,” Bran thought aloud. “Knowing his family was at war, and being duty-bound not to leave his post.” A thought struck him. “Just like the decision Jon must have made when Robb called the banners,” he breathed, shocked at the realisation. “I don't know how he didn't desert. Jon loved Father and Robb more than any other people in the world.”

His uncle nodded. “Aye, I suspect Jon may have tried to,” Benjen confided, “but his Black Brothers would have stopped him. Unfortunately, that sort of thing is far more widespread than you might think.” He seemed to ponder something. “I suspect I may have struggled to keep my vows too,” the Night's Watchman confessed, “knowing my only remaining brother by blood was in the Black Cells.” Bran was surprised at that admission, given that Uncle Benjen was the most honourable man he knew in the world, besides his father.

They continued in silence for a time. Bran found it uncomfortable. “This morning I realised ... that I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to Meera,” he confessed. “She'd die to protect me, I know it.” Bran found it difficult to keep speaking. “All I could think of was 'What would happen if I got her killed?', Uncle Benjen... and it terrified me,” he finished.  
When Benjen didn't say anything for a time, his nephew told him apologetically, “I know I went too far with Meera... I just didn't realise how far, until you spoke to her this morning.” Bran was disgusted at himself, for leading the woman he loved to the point where she was willing to dishonour herself, because of him. “I'm ashamed because I led her into temptation, and I don't know how I can make things right.”

His kinsman stated, “And so, you've been trying to avoid her all day.”

“I didn't know what else to do!” Bran exclaimed, suddenly feeling rather worked up.

“Hush now,” his uncle told him calmly. “I wasn't passing judgement on you, Bran.” That reassurance did make the youth feel somewhat less agitated. “You two really need to talk about this, though, and I really need to be there when you do.” Bran started to protest, but Benjen cut him off. “I won't hear any complaining about it either,” he insisted. So all Bran could do was nod in deference, and hope Uncle Benjen knew what he was doing. Still, the young Northman was apprehensive.

++++++++++++

Meera loitered far enough away from the Starks that she could hear that they were talking, but not what they were talking about. Not that she needed to listen anyway. She knew they were talking about her. The girl from the marshes wished there was something she could do to rein in these feelings she had for Bran. Toeing idly at the snow as she walked, Meera tried unsuccessfully to think about anything other than him. He'd seemed rather subdued all day, at least he had been until she'd heard him cry out in pain. Her friend had hurt his hand somehow, and his uncle... something about how he'd yelled at Bran disturbed her. Not only that, but Bran had been abnormally hostile in response.  
Meera hadn't wanted to leave, but Benjen's unspoken dismissal was compelling. So she left them alone to talk. The Crannogwoman suddenly pulled up, as a terrible thought occurred to her. Had Bran been hurting himself on purpose? She shook her head. That made no sense to her. Still, Meera found the idea hard to dismiss, as it seemed to fit best with all the information at hand.  
She started to walk again, before noticing that Bran and Benjen didn't appear to be talking any longer. Meera waited a few minutes, to make certain, and then silently rejoined the pair. The elder Stark nodded wordlessly in greeting, but the younger one was refusing to make eye contact still. She couldn't figure out whether Bran was doing it to avoid her, or his uncle. Or perhaps both of them.  
The girl fell into step with Benjen, deliberately putting the Black Brother between her and the horse. If it was her that Bran was avoiding, she figured it would be easier that way. If not, she wagered that her beloved would ask her to come around the other side of the horse. He didn't. In fact, none of them spoke again until Benjen pulled up the horse to make camp for the evening.

It was just as well. Meera was finding the silence uncomfortable, yet it didn't seem like anyone wanted to be the first to break it. The not-quite wight hoisted his nephew down from the horse, and held him up, while she put the furs down for him to sit on. Bran was then placed gently down onto the hides by his uncle, who propped the young man up with his back against the trunk of a large tree.  
The Crannogwoman rummaged around in her pack for some jerky and a waterskin Benjen had given her. As a sort of peace offering, she walked over to Bran so she could offer him some jerky and the water. He watched her feet as she approached, still not willing to meet anyone's eyes. Meera paused before reaching Bran, just out of arm's reach, afraid that somehow she might make things worse.

+++++++++++++

Softly, yet hesitantly, his closest friend spoke his name. He briefly glanced up, but only to Meera's hands. Bran looked away again, before finally settling upon staring at his legs. “I... we... um, we need to talk,” he spoke, unsure of himself and what he wanted to say. “But maybe we should eat first,” Bran procrastinated. His uncle made a noise that sounded like it was a cross between a sigh and a groan.

+++++++++++++

Meera had looked over at Benjen when he'd made his frustrated sound. She could have sworn that she caught the tail end of an eye roll from him as she did. It amused the young woman somewhat – that she wasn't the only one who found Bran frustrating on occasion. Though it was clear, from both their reactions, that the Night's Watchman had told his nephew to talk to her and Bran was stalling for whatever reason. She held out some jerky and the water for her friend to take. When he had, Meera moved away to sit on her own.

+++++++++++++

Bran thought about asking her to stay and sit with him but quickly changed his mind. He needed a clear head to talk to Meera, and when she was close to him, the greenseer found his mind was anything but clear. _Besides, I'm trying to cool things a bit, remember?_ he told himself. Bran ate his jerky and washed it down with some water.  
As he was eating, the crippled youth pondered. Slowly, he reached the conclusion that, if not for his injury, he would have likely gone even further with Meera. That saddened Bran. Not because he didn't want to, though. It was because he didn't know whether he could live with himself for dishonouring her like that. Bran found himself wondering if they would have even met, had he not fallen from that tower. Possibly not. He mulled that over in his mind. If he'd been whole, the boy – who would likely not have become a prince, either, he realised – might never have had the opportunity to enjoy Meera's sense of humour or the way she made the world brighter when she laughed. Or the indescribable manner in which the Crannogwoman made Bran feel when she smiled. Especially, when it was aimed at him.  
His cheeks felt hot. _Think about something else... anything else,_ he chided himself. Bran reminded himself that Meera wasn't his, regardless of how much he, or even she, may have wanted that to be the case. He distracted himself by thinking of Winterfell. Of how much he missed home. Unfortunately, Bran also remembered that it was a burned out husk. To distract himself again, he wondered how Rickon and Osha had fared on their journey to the Last Hearth. Bran prayed a short prayer, hoping that they'd made it alright. Rickon had been right. Father and Mother and Robb had all gone south, and none of them had ever come back. That made the greenseer wonder whether his little brother had actually known, or if he'd just been scared because he felt abandoned by everyone; Rickon had undoubtedly been angry.  
It was only then that Bran was struck by how colossally stupid he'd been and silently cursed. Of course, Rickon had wanted to come north of the Wall with him! He'd desperately wanted to remain with what was left of their family, and Bran had forced Rickon to separate from him. To protect them both. But at what cost? Bran desperately prayed that his baby brother could forgive him.

He was brought back to the present by Uncle Benjen clearing his throat. The heir to Winterfell dreaded the coming conversation, remembering Jojen's anecdote about moths and their attraction to flames. “Sorry,” he apologised. “Yes... talking.” Bran tried to formulate in his mind just how to bring up the conversation. When nothing came to mind, he just blurted out, “I shouldn't have said anything.” His cheeks burned with shame, and he was still unwilling to make eye contact with either kinsman or Meera.

++++++++++++

The Crannogwoman was somewhat confused as to the particular utterance her prince wished he could recant. “What specifically, Bran?” Benjen prompted. _Kindly, yet firmly,_ she thought. Bran finally looked up and met her eyes for a second, before he dropped them again. In that second, it felt as though a whole gamut of emotions had been revealed to Meera. Sadness and pain, fear and shame, desire and disgust. The young woman had seen regret as well, just before he'd averted his eyes.  
She wanted to run to Bran and hold him in her arms. To tell him that he didn't have to talk if he didn't want to and that she was there for him if he needed her. But Meera knew that would likely end, as last night had, with at least one of them upset and frustrated. It took a lot of willpower on her part to keep her seat. The man she loved appeared quite distressed, as he struggled to elucidate just what was bothering him.

++++++++++++

The young Stark felt like he was being crushed again and found it difficult to breathe. Finally, he confessed, “I wasn't asleep this morning... I heard what you told Uncle Benjen.” Bran felt like his chest would burst, and waited for the outburst he was anticipating from Meera, whilst he tried not to hyperventilate. Instead, she surprised him.

++++++++++++

Meera had been taken aback at first. Then she'd felt betrayed, thinking that he had tricked her, by pretending to be asleep, into admitting incriminating things to his uncle. But her anger had ebbed nearly immediately because she saw how much pain Bran was in. Unable to remain seated any longer, the girl from the swamps moved to comfort her friend. Quickly, she knelt at his side and enveloped him in a hug. At first, he did nothing. But when he realised what was happening, Bran tried to push Meera away, sobbing 'No' over and over.  
She shushed him, and begged in a whisper, “Please don't fight me, Bran!” He stopped struggling but kept crying, head against her chest. As she held him, the Crannogwoman became painfully aware that the elder Stark was watching them. When Bran had calmed somewhat, she released him from the embrace. Meera found she also was having difficulty expressing what she wanted to verbally.  
“How much did you hear, Bran?” she asked, in such a manner that it completely belied the emotional turmoil she actually felt. The answer that the young woman was dreading came.

“All of it,” he admitted in a whisper. Part of her was hurt and a little angry. Yet, as Meera looked at Bran, she knew in her heart that it hadn't been malicious. It also explained most of why Bran had been acting weird all day. Oddly, as much as the girl had dreaded Bran's answer being what it was, now she realised that she actually felt relieved for the most part. She'd feared that her companion would push her away in disgust. He had pushed Meera away... however, it clearly wasn't out of disgust.  
The Crannogwoman was puzzled now. It was almost like her admission had caused him... grief. As she knelt there, in the snow, it became evident to Meera why. Surprised, her jaw gaped. Bran had blamed himself for her failings, yet again. She was suddenly torn between retreating from or advancing towards the heir to Winterfell. As it was, Meera was caught in the No Man's Land of indecision. She looked towards Benjen helplessly, utterly unsure what to do.

The Black Brother looked pensive. He shrugged. “Bran needs to tell you what he said to me earlier,” Benjen spoke plainly. “Unless, of course, he'd prefer me to do it...” He left the question hanging in the air unasked. Her friend looked over to his uncle and nodded sadly. “Very well,” the dead man said, then sighed. “Chiefly, Bran told me he regretted making last night's... joke.” The way he spoke the word, left no doubt in anyone's mind exactly what he thought of the aforementioned jest... in poor taste. The younger Stark was well and truly hanging his head now.  
Benjen continued. “He also regrets that he tempted you into a position where you felt willing to let him dishonour you.” Meera looked back at Bran. He looked as though he wanted to sink into the ground and have it swallow him up whole. Benjen then told her, “Bran mentioned other things to me, but they're probably better coming from him rather than me... when he's ready to talk about them.”

The Stark she loved didn't let the silence linger long this time. “I'm not ready yet,” he sighed, looking utterly defeated. “One thing I do need to say, though,” Bran told her, finally meeting her eyes. “For both our sakes, we need to take things more slowly, lest we end up doing something we'll regret.” Meera nodded her concurrence, noting how sad his eyes were as he spoke.  
_He wanted me, last night. The same as I did him,_ she realised. The daughter of the marshes decided to discreetly query the younger Stark about whether it was true, sooner rather than later. _Tonight, then._

+++++++++++++

Bran felt awful. He excused himself and told them he was ready for bed. His uncle helped him into the furs, as Meera looked like she was uncomfortable helping him that evening. The greenseer noted that she seemed to be staring into the distance, at nothing in particular. He wondered what she was feeling. Was she upset at him? His family's bannerman turned her head towards him. Not the whole way, but enough for Bran to know that she knew he was watching her. Meera turned away from him again, sighing as she did.  
He saw the Crannogwoman start to fiddle with the thin leather cords she had looped around her left thumb, with her right hand – ties which secured a wider leather strap to her arm. The only other time Bran had seen her do that, she'd been deep in thought... and sad as well. _She wants to talk,_ he thought, _but she's not comfortable about it._ Bran wondered if it was his uncle's presence, or the topic Meera wished to discuss, which bothered her. It then occurred to the young Northman just why his companion touched those little cords when she was down. She associated them – or rather the leather strap they bound to her – with her brother. It was her last physical tie to Jojen after Leaf had been forced to destroy his body to prevent him from becoming a wight.  
Bran remembered how Jojen's eyes had gone when he'd had a vision. How his body had shaken. How he'd sometimes foamed at the mouth. He recalled Meera rushing to her little brother's side. She'd untied the cords in time it took her to reach Jojen and unwrapped the strap from her arm. Folding it double, Meera had forced the leather between his teeth, then cradled his head in her lap as he shook. Bran presumed the leather was so Jojen didn't accidentally bite himself and suspected the words his sister said to him as reassurance were actually more for herself than for Jojen. This reflection gave Bran an even greater appreciation for his closest friend.

+++++++++++++

Benjen had gone to groom and rub down the horse, after making sure his nephew was settled. He kept his eye on both Bran and Meera. They both seemed like they wanted to talk, but neither did. So they continued looking sad, lonely, and forlorn, apart from each other. If he hadn't been technically dead already, the former First Ranger would have sworn these two would be the death of him. By the time he finished with the horse, Benjen couldn't stand it anymore.  
“I'm going for a walk,” he declared in frustration. “The tension here is thick enough to suffocate a man.” Both Ned's boy and Howland's girl had turned to look at him individually, confused by his sudden outburst. “You obviously want to talk together... alone,” the Night's Watchman addressed them. “So, I'm giving you an opportunity.” He started to walk off, before turning and adding darkly, “No funny business while I'm gone.” Bran's reply was contrite, whereas Meera just nodded. Benjen left them.

+++++++++++++

When he was sure his uncle was out of hearing, Bran quietly spoke to Meera. “Would you come sit closer to me, Meera?” he asked timidly. She looked uncertain, but came and sat down just out of arm's reach of him. Bran thought that a wise precaution.

Again, the young woman played with her leather cords and avoided meeting his eyes. “How's your hand?” she asked. He could hear the concern underlying her question, even though Meera had tried to sound casual. The younger Stark could see that she was skirting the edge of the topic of conversation but plainly wanted him to commit first.

He bit. “It's still sore,” Bran replied. He continued gently, “But what you really want to know is, why is it sore in the first place, isn't it?” His friend from the marshlands looked up at him sadly, then dropped her gaze and nodded. He'd been dreading explaining it to her since his uncle had made a scene about it. “Um... well...” Bran stammered before he quite knew what to say. A thought came to him. “You know yesterday when I told you about Jon, and you had to go outside to be alone?” he tried to explain.  
Meera nodded. “This morning I needed to do the same,” the young man continued. “But obviously...” He gestured at his legs. “When I could still walk, I'd run or climb to cope with things that bothered me.” Bran still was struggling to say what he wanted. “I was over-thinking things this morning, and it felt like my chest was being crushed.” Just thinking about it was stressing him. He rubbed his chest. “I couldn't breathe.” She was staring at him now, mouth agape. Shocked. The prince stared at the ground in shame. “The only way I knew how to cope with it,” he admitted, voice trembling, “was to make it hurt someplace else, as a distraction.” Bran held up his right arm. “Normally, I'd use this one,” he laughed humourlessly. “But you were using it.”

++++++++++++++

The revelation from the man she wished to marry had brought up many emotions in Meera, some of them conflicting. Anger at Bran for hurting himself. Sadness that he'd felt he'd needed to cope by hurting himself. Relief that her prince had decided to confide in her now. A whole myriad of other emotions were there as well, too fleeting to catalogue. Meera asked quietly, “Bran, what was it that got you so worked up?”

For a long time, he didn't reply. She could tell from his face, that Bran was struggling internally about whether to answer her or not. Eventually, he spoke. “I was thinking about you when I woke up,” her close companion told her, eyes still focused on the patch of ground he'd been staring at the last few minutes. Meera noticed that Bran was fidgeting with the furs, as he did when he was nervous about how people would respond to what he was about to say. “About us, really...” He swallowed and then finally told her the reason for his distress.  
“I thought about how much I cared for you,” Bran confessed, “and then I thought... how would I cope if I lost you?” His voice faltered, and Meera saw tears roll down his cheeks. “I knew immediately, that I couldn't... that I'd be devastated... and I realised we needed to pull back. To slow down and think things through... to... to understand the consequences before we dive into anything more.”  
He sighed heavily. “And then you said, what you said, to Uncle Benjen... and I was so ashamed of myself for leading you astray.” The younger Stak grew reticent and in a near whisper, added, “I didn't realise just how close to the edge of the cliff we were last night until you said you'd have let me... if I'd only asked.” He choked up. “I think I would have too, if I'd known you wanted to... and hated myself this morning for dishonouring you.”

Meera sat silently, taking in what Bran had told her. It made sense of everything that had transpired that day. Even so, she sensed Benjen's nephew was holding something back still. Something he thought she'd find unforgivable.

+++++++++++++

“I... if I wasn't...” Bran tried to tell Meera his dark secret but failed miserably. He frowned and tried again. “If I wasn't broken, I would definitely have had you, right there on the floor of that cave,” the youth admitted. He was trembling in fear anticipating her response. "I'm sorry."

“Oh!” the Crannogwoman responded. Bran couldn't tell if she was surprised or shocked or horrified. He continued to play with the edge of the fur, as he worried about what Meera was thinking. Yet again, she surprised him. “I'm sorry too.” The Stark lad finally looked her in the eye, curious as to what she was apologising for. She told him sadly, “I've thought about it all day... I need your help to stay strong. These feelings...” His companion tapped her heart. “These feelings are overwhelming me. I want to take care of you, but this... this complicates everything.” She shook her head. “You are my liege lord and my prince,” she loudly declared, “and I have no right to claim you in my heart.” Meera turned away from him.

Bran knew now what, ultimately, was bothering his love – his perceived authority over her. “Meera,” he said to her, measuring his tone carefully, “I love you... that gives you every right to love me back. I want to take you to wife! Forget my titles, my name, my birthright.” Bran made sure he emphasised his final point to her. “I would gladly renounce them all; if only to make you accept me as a man.”

She faced him again, her eyes wide. “You really mean that, don't you?” Meera spoke in hushed tones. Bran nodded. She started to rush over to him, before thinking better of it. Instead, his friend inched forward, knelt beside him and took his hand in hers. “I was already struggling with the blurring line between your name, and you as a person. If you're wanting me not to think about it, I will certainly try my hardest.” The heir to the North smiled broadly at her.

“Nothing would please me more,” he told Meera. Yet, as soon as Bran said it, other things popped into his head that he thought might please him more. Most of them were unseemly. He turned bright red, and pulled his hand back from hers, mumbling an excuse. Bran was ashamed that his mind had veered so quickly towards the gutter. “I'm sorry, there are some things... like marrying you, which would obviously please me more.”

“Marrying me or laying with me, Bran?” the Crannogwoman asked, crossing her arms and looking somewhat displeased. She was onto him.

Weakly, he admitted, “Marrying you... so I can lay with you. I don't want to shame you.” Bran's cheeks burned.

Meera's face slowly broke into a smile, then she started to laugh. “I'm sorry,” she apologised. “I really need to cut back on teasing you so.”

The young Stark knew then that he'd walked right into the lizard-lioness' baited trap. “You are really mean,” he told her, sighing as he did.

She giggled. “I know,” Meera told him with a cheeky smile, “and I know you like it, for the most part.” Bran knew she spoke truly. “If your uncle is alright with it, and you can keep your hands to yourself, I'd like to share those furs.” He promised not to touch her, without asking first.

+++++++++++++

Benjen had agreed to the conditions Meera had stipulated. So she lay down to sleep beside Bran. He seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of her being so close to him, knowing he could look, but not touch. The girl faced away from Bran. She had to. Otherwise, Meera knew she'd end up in his arms as she slept. She bid Bran goodnight, and Benjen too, yawning as she did. “See you both in the morning,” she said, drifting off to sleep.

+++++++++++++

Her companion in the sleeping pelts, on the other hand, was too distracted by the million things racing around the inside of his head. When he was sure Meera was asleep, Bran quietly spoke. “Uncle Benjen?” he whispered.

“Yes, Bran?” the Night's Watchman responded quietly.

“I need to talk again,” Bran informed his uncle. “About what's on my mind.” Benjen came over and sat down on his nephew's left-hand side. Bran rested his hands on his stomach. They spent a long time talking, mostly about his visions, but also about what he'd discussed with Meera. The elder Stark listened for the most part, while the younger Stark did most of the talking.

When Bran exhausted all the topics he'd wanted to cover, his uncle asked him, “ Would you like me to help enforce your agreement, to keep touching to a minimum? Just in case it slips your mind?”

The young lordling thought for a while. “I don't think Meera will have any trouble,” he replied. “She had several opportunities when we were talking before.” Bran elaborated further. “A few times, Meera started to come closer to me, but stopped when she realised.”

“All the same,” Benjen replied, “I should be there, in case either of you forget.” His nephew nodded his acquiescence. “You get some rest, Bran. Tomorrow, you need to be alert. I don't mean to frighten you, but we're heading through an area which may be hostile, and we'll need you to use your powers to scout.” The heir to Winterfell nodded again and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have finally returned! So, unfortunately, life got in the way. I was way busier than I was anticipating, then I got sick for a while, then my writing laptop died... Long story short, it's totally thrown my writing plans. Two to three weeks turned into nearly two months.  
> This will be the last chapter before New Year's. I'm sorry, people, I just doubt I'm going to get anything done before then. (The extended family is coming to crash at mine for Christmas/New Year's and the likelihood of me getting any free time to write is roughly 0%.)
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you guys think.


	8. Night Seven and Day Eight

Bran dreamed of a direwolf and a fox, kept in cages and bound with chains. The direwolf was full of rage and fear and pain, fighting against the chains until he had exhausted himself. The fox, on the other hand, watched everything that went on outside her cage intently. Though the vixen seethed at her capture, the beast was wily enough to know that freedom lay in tricking her captors into thinking she was harmless. So the fox waited patiently, for she knew her opportunity would come.  
When it did, the vixen tried to trick her captor into freeing her. But the man saw through the ruse and killed her when she turned to bite him. Their captor tormented the direwolf by displaying the vixen's lifeless corpse outside his cage. The wolf howled, but no-one was there to hear him. Later, the man released the direwolf from his chains and set him loose. But he hadn't finished tormenting the beast. The wolf ran for safety, but the man started hunting him with a bow.  
Just before the wolf made it, he was feathered by the man. As he lay there, slowly bleeding out, the man feathered him twice more. The direwolf wept, as he died within sight of home and the family he'd never be reunited with.

–––––––––––––-------

When Bran woke, he briefly pondered what the dream could mean. He knew it was prophetic, all green dreams were. Presumably, whatever he'd seen hadn't happened yet. Ultimately, it didn't matter. He could do nothing about it from beyond the Wall. The greenseer debated internally, about sharing what he'd seen or not. In the end, he kept the vision to himself. He could see no good come from telling his companions.

Bran distracted himself with other things. He ate his jerky in silence and only talked when Meera or his uncle attempted to engage him in small talk. Begrudgingly, he participated. Even so, the youth was aware that they knew that something was bothering him. When he was finished eating, Bran decided to warg something. He couldn't face his companions watching him expectantly, waiting for him to talk.  
He found a bird rather quickly and was grateful to slip into its skin. Bran-the-bird stretched out his wings and soared high above the ground. He was free again, at last...

++++++++++++++

Meera worried all through breakfast about how distant Bran seemed. Then, after he'd unexpectedly warged, she'd looked at Benjen for some sort of explanation. The look on the dead man's face told her everything she needed to know. Her friend had done it deliberately, and his uncle was rather displeased. The Crannogwoman grew angry. Bran was behaving recklessly. Something had changed, she just didn't know what. Whatever was bothering him, he seemed to be trying to run from it. Meera started to worry again. What if Bran was trying to avoid her? She dismissed that out of hand. That was ridiculous. They'd already agreed to attempt to stay away from each other, as much as possible. She looked at the elder Stark again, entirely at a loss to explain younger Stark's behaviour.

“Do you know what he's doing?” Meera asked the ranger anxiously.

“No,” Benjen replied darkly. Bran's uncle was silent for a few moments, then spoke again. “He's done this on purpose, to avoid talking to us about what's bothering him.” The Night's Watchman let out a frustrated sigh. “The lad had a vision during the night.” Meera was surprised. Every other time he'd had a vision, Bran had either woken straight away or wanted to talk about it as soon as he could.  
Benjen must have noticed her surprise. “I expected him to try and talk to one of us,” he confirmed. “This development is rather... troubling.”

“What do we do, though?” the girl from the swamps asked, worry clearly permeating her voice.

The Black Brother sighed resignedly. “We get ready to break camp, and pull him out of it when we're ready to leave.” Meera thought about protesting but knew it would be pointless. Instead, she tried to focus on the task at hand.

++++++++++++++

Bran was enjoying himself, not being bound to a broken body. He heard a voice calling his name, and reluctantly, he followed it. His temporary freedom was over. The young man came back to his own body, took a few seconds to adjust, then was ashamed when he saw Uncle Benjen and Meera's reactions. His uncle was scowling. Which, for Benjen, meant he was extremely displeased with how Bran was acting.  
His friend had been kneeling beside his body and grabbing him by the shoulder. When she saw he was lucid again, she released him and moved away. She seemed to be both angry and worried. “Promise me you won't do that again without telling me,” Meera demanded angrily. Bran could see how much he'd upset her with what he'd done. It made him feel even more wretched than before.

“Forgive me,” he begged. “Both of you... please. It was stupid of me to try and run away. I... I won't do it again.” Bran was upset with himself for distressing them. “I promise I'll tell you before I warg, Meera!” The look she gave him said 'You will, or else'. He felt thoroughly chastised.  
Benjen picked his nephew up and put him in the saddle. The Crannogwoman gathered up the furs and packed them away. All of it was done in silence, as none of them were in the mood to talk any more. They started out mid-morning. Bran found the silence uncomfortable, and eventually confessed, “I had a dream last night... and I didn't want to think about it, let alone discuss it.” He tried to explain, but found it difficult to put into words. “It was... disturbing. So I ran somewhere I knew I wouldn't have to think.”

Meera spoke up first. “Bran,” she told him kindly, “all you had to do, was say that. We wouldn't have pressed you further. I... _we_ just wanted to know if you were alright.” She blushed, as she'd let slip how worried she'd been personally. The heir to Winterfell smiled sadly, knowing how much his beloved friend cared for him. But he was upset because he didn't know how to share this with her. Not yet.

“I... I know,” he stammered, “and I'm sorry.” Bran sighed. “For everything.”

His uncle spoke next. “For my part, I forgive you, Bran,” Benjen reassured him. “But you, of all people, should understand that warging like you did this morning, was dangerous and foolhardy. And I suspect whatever you won't tell us, made you not care about the consequences.” Meera looked more concerned than ever before, at the nebulous mention of consequences. His cheeks burned with shame at his uncle's words.  
“Enough of that, though,” the Watchman commanded. Meera and Bran both turned to look at him, as he stopped the horse. “Bran, you remember what I said to you last night? About needing you to warg for me today?” The youth nodded at his uncle. Benjen went on. “We're near a wilding village. I need you to take a bird over it, and then come back and tell me everything that you saw as the bird.”

“Is that safe?” Meera asked.

“If he doesn't linger too long, or fly too low, yes,” Benjen answered. She didn't look terribly reassured by that.

Bran also answered her. “Compared to how safe we'll be if I don't,” he told her quietly, “and something is there? Very.” She seemed very concerned by his response. “I'm going to warg now, alright, Meera?” The Crannogwoman nodded, even though she was clearly concerned for his well-being. 

–––––––––––––-------

The greenseer slipped into a nearby bird with relative ease. His preference was for wolves, but flying creatures were a joy unto themselves. Bran-the-bird felt the wind beneath his wings, sensing the current of the air and the subtle eddies it had. He was hungry – nearly starving. Losing height, the bird warily sought to get closer to the man-nests on the ground. It knew that there were dangers that lurked near where men dwelt, none the least being the men themselves. Sniffing out nothing at that height, Bran-the-bird went lower still. His bird brain was overly cautious and objected, but the thought of food was enticing.  
There was no movement in the dwellings that his eyes could detect, and still nothing noticeable to his nose. No smoke issued from any of the man-nests, as they did when occupied. No noise came either; the bird knew that men – especially their chicks – were cacophonous creatures. The animal went as low as it dared, weaving amongst the roof-tops. It smelled no food, nor men, nor beasts. Nor could it even discern any of the terrifying, putrid smelling not-men or their not-beasts. Realising its quest for food was pointless here, the bird fought hard to rise higher and seek sustenance elsewhere. The warg released his grip on the creature's mind, its purpose now served, and returned to his own broken body.

–––––––––––––-------

Bran had not been gone long at all. After he took a brief time to process what he'd seen whilst a bird, he announced, “It's completely abandoned, and looks like it's been that way a long time.”

“Good,” Benjen said, somewhat distracted. “One last thing. Do you want to stop here the night, with shelter and a fire, or keep going and camp like last night?” He paused, then added, “The journey to the Wall will be the same number of days, regardless. Just if we stay here tonight, it will obviously mean getting to the Wall later in the day.”  
Bran consulted with his Crannogwoman friend and, between them, they decided to stay there the night. The Night's Watchman drew his sword and told Meera to do the same. “I trust your report, Bran,” his uncle reassured him. “However, it's wise to take precautions.” They edged towards the village silently. Benjen checked it out thoroughly, while Meera guarded Bran. When he was satisfied it was deserted, the dead man rejoined them. “Can never be too careful,” he commented. His nephew agreed that the dead man had a point.

It took some time to find a suitable hut. Most of the dwellings were very small and couldn't house the three of them with the horse, let alone a fire as well. Eventually, they found one to their liking. It was spacious enough for the three of them and the horse, and it had a fire pit with a flue on one side. Width-wise, the hut was barely longer than the horse, maybe by a foot or so. Length-wise, it was roughly three lengths of the horse, by Bran's estimation.  
The door to the hut was on one of the long sides, near where it met the short side. He looked to where the sun was in the sky. It was just past midday, the greenseer observed, judging from the orb's position. He reckoned by the sun, that the hut – in truth, Bran knew, it should really be called a cabin – had it's door facing south, on the western end of the wall. The fire pit was roughly midway down the northern wall.  
Benjen laid down the pelts for his nephew, at the end of the cabin farthest from the door, and then placed him down on them. Bran chose to lay down, rather than sit up, as he didn't feel particularly energetic. That and, if he lay down, the boy wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye for a while.

He knew his friend was watching him, and he knew it was unfair to her, for him to shut her out like this. Bran knew his uncle was watching him as well. He stared at the ceiling for a while. Benjen sighed, told them he was going to collect some firewood, then left the pair alone together. Meera came and sat down near him. “I miss just talking with you, Bran,” she lamented. The girl from the swamps tugged at her leather cords. “We've hardly talked at all lately.”

Bran sighed. “I know,” he acknowledged. The young man desperately wanted Meera to come closer but knew that was a bad idea. For both of them. “I... I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but...” He swallowed nervously. “I can't talk right now. My mind is all over the place.” Bran blinked back tears. “I'm sorry. I... what I really need, is a hug.” He closed his eyes and thought about going to sleep.  
But the woman he loved, yet again, surprised him. She got up from where she sat, and carefully avoiding his legs, stepped over him. Bran opened his eyes and watched her come toward him. He was anxious and excited at the same time. It took all of the young man's willpower to not grab Meera's arm and pull her closer. He was surprised at the intensity of his urge. Bran was thankful that he had the furs over him. She lay down beside him, over the top of the animal skins, and pulled him into a hug. As the woman he longed for held him, the dam broke on his pent-up frustrations and fears. He cried. Loudly.

++++++++++++++

Meera had been overjoyed that Bran had let her come close to him again. At the same time, she was saddened that the man she loved felt he couldn't share his burden with her. So the heir to Greywater Watch helped him by doing the next best thing. She held him as he hurt. As her friend cried, Meera thought he sounded almost tortured. Silently, she began to cry too. She couldn't bear to see him in this much pain.  
Finally, Bran stopped crying. Meera checked to see if he was alright. He'd fallen asleep. She kissed her prince on the forehead and got up carefully to avoid waking him up. The Crannogwoman went back to where she'd been sitting before Bran asked her to come closer. As she waited for Benjen's return, Meera watched her beloved sleep and wished that things between them were different.

++++++++++++++

When the Night's Watchman returned, he found Howland's girl watching Ned's boy. He watched her, watching his nephew. Benjen was surprised that Bran was asleep, but was concerned upon noticing the lad had been crying. He saw that Meera had been, as well. Her sadness was almost palpable in the room. The former First Ranger busied himself making a fire. “Did he speak with you?” he asked the Crannogwoman quietly, as he lit the tinder.

“No,” she answered sadly, “he asked me to give him a hug... then he broke down in tears as I held him, and eventually fell asleep.” Meera paused before adding, “Whatever it is, he's ashamed... and it's consuming him.” She brushed the back of her hand against her eye, to stop a tear from falling. “I... I just wish he'd let me help him.”

The Black Brother was silent, as he didn't know how to respond to that. He was worried about his nephew too, but he suspected the young woman felt it even more intensely then him. It seemed to Benjen that, like Lyanna's ill-fated romance with Rhaegar, the gods had decided that Meera and Bran were meant to be together. “I know you do,” the dead man told her. “It's natural to feel that way because you love him.”  
Benjen and his friend's daughter were silent for a few minutes as he got the fire going. He sighed and tried to explain his motivations to her. “I want you to know, I'm not trying to keep you two apart because I don't think you should be together.” Meera turned her head towards the Night's Watchman, as he continued. “You and Bran are good for each other. I'd be proud to have you in the family.”

“Thank you,” the girl from the swamps responded, clearly surprised.

Benjen looked over towards her. “I'm just worried about your virtue.” She turned away from him, cheeks bright red. “I don't mean to embarrass you. But I know you both want to... do more.” The elder Stark became somewhat uncomfortable with his own implications, as did Howland's daughter. “I just want you to know, I'm only trying to keep you both from getting hurt.”

Meera looked back towards him. “I know, Benjen,” she replied. “I'd be proud to have you as my uncle.” He smiled at that and thanked her for the compliment. “Honestly,” the Crannogwoman continued, “I've never felt this way about someone before Bran.” She smiled ruefully. “I didn't even realise you could feel this strongly for someone until I did. Last night, he told me that he wouldn't be able to cope if I... if he lost me.” Meera looked at Bran. “And I know now, I feel the same about him,” she quietly admitted.

“Did you tell him that?” Benjen asked of her.

The Reed girl laughed bitterly. “And give Bran another excuse to push me away?” she countered, obviously pained. Bran's uncle had clearly struck a nerve. He was about to apologise when Meera beat him to it. “Forgive me, Benjen.” She sighed. “That was uncalled for. I shouldn't be taking my frustrations out on anyone, least of all you.”

“I forgive you,” the Black Brother told her. “As long as you can forgive me for provoking you, even if it was accidental.” 

“I do forgive you,” the Crannogwoman assured him, smiling sadly as she did. They were both distracted by Bran at that moment. He was murmuring in his sleep and appeared to be having another vision.

++++++++++++++

The greenseer thrashed about as he broke out of his nightmare of a vision. Meera was by his side in an instant. He grabbed her forearm tightly, as he tried to recover his breath. Lying back down, Bran grimaced. “No,” he panted, anguished. “No, no, no!”  
His friend did her best to calm him down, and he let her arm go. He was ashamed to see angry red marks on Meera's skin where his fingers had been. “I'm sorry,” he apologised. The woman didn't seem to notice that he'd hurt her and enveloped him in a hug. Bran clung to her as if she was the anchor to his ship.

As she held him, Meera implored, “Tell me, Bran...please!”

Bran knew he had to tell her this time. “I had the dream from last night again,” he choked. “A green dream.” The heir to the North shed some tears, much to his embarrassment. “Please, don't make me speak about it,” he begged, his voice all but a whisper. “I don't want to think about what it means.”

Meera cradled him in her arms. “Sshh,” she soothed. “You don't have to talk if you don't want to.”

Uncle Benjen loudly cleared his throat. His friend let Bran down, got up quickly and withdrew to the other side of the room. “Meera, come help me catch some game,” the man of the Watch ordered. He pointed at Bran. “And you, Nephew... don't do anything foolish while we're away.” The youth nodded his understanding.

When they'd left, Bran stared at the ceiling, silently cursing himself for his lack of self-control. He needed to keep Meera at arm's length, not encourage her to get closer to him. The heir to Winterfell realised he needed something to distract him. Something that wasn't Meera, and wasn't his visions. So, he thought of home, how it had been long ago. Before King Robert had come. Bran tried to picture his mother and father, brothers and sisters. How they'd been back then.  
No matter how hard he tried though, the young man couldn't picture his family before they'd been scattered to the four winds. He wondered if Sansa had kept growing taller. Bran knew he'd gotten taller. Would he tower over her, as Jon and Robb had once done? Would Arya have increased in height as well? Probably, but certainly not as much as he had. The boy smiled sadly. It didn't matter, his sister would always be taller than him now – she could stand up. They'd constantly fought over who was taller as children. He wondered if Arya would find the irony of that as amusing as he did.  
Bran thought of his sister-by-law. The one he would now never know. She'd seemed like a kind soul from what he'd seen. Did she have a family somewhere, family that missed her, like he missed his? Worse, did they know she was dead? Or how she had been murdered? Bran wondered how he would have taken the news of the massacre at his uncle's wedding, had he not seen it for himself. Would he have wanted to know the details? Perhaps not, the young Northman decided, but he would want to know that the guilty had been punished. He vowed to find out who Robb's wife had been, and let her family know when Lord Walder Frey had seen justice.  
Next Bran thought of Rickon and wondered how he was coping with being separated from everyone else in his family. Osha could handle him. Bran smiled again at that thought. The wildling woman was ferocious, but his baby brother had been even more so. He thought it curious, as his mind drifted to his siblings dire-wolves, that all of them had seemed to take on traits from their humans. All except Shaggydog and Rickon – to Bran, it seemed like the reverse had happened there. A wild wolf, and his wild human.  
Shaggydog had been untameable by everyone except Rickon. A tiny human boy, in perfect control over a wild beast bigger than he. When he wanted to be in control, that was. Bran worried about his younger brother's discipline. If Osha and Rickon made it to the Last Hearth, could he control Shaggydog in the Umber's home? Bran hoped so. His family had lost too many of their animal companions already. Not to mention their human companions as well.

The greenseer was then hit with the enormity of his loss. Everyone he'd ever known from Winterfell was dead. The Ironborn had seen to that. Yet, Bran knew Theon. The man who had once been like a brother. He wouldn't have ordered it, not even to save face. Would he? Bran didn't know the answer to that anymore. What had become of Theon, he wondered.  
It made the lad think of everyone he cared about, who he wasn't sure was dead. It scared him to think he could count them on both hands. There were Sansa and Arya, Rickon and Osha, Jon (sort of alive), Uncle Benjen (again, sort of alive), and Meera... well, and possibly Theon. If he added the dire-wolves to the count, it came out to eleven. Bran was shocked by how low the total was. His entire world had been reduced to five living people, two undead, Theon and three dire-wolves. Well, six living and one undead... Jon really didn't belong in the same category as Uncle Benjen.

Then Bran thought of Jory Cassell and the rest of the household guard that had gone south with his father. How Robb had told him that the Kingslayer had put his knife through Jory's eye, and then left their father in the street to bleed. He wondered how Ser Rodrik had taken the news of Jory's death. The knight had loved his nephew like he was his own son. After all, he had effectively raised Jory as his son, after his brother had gone south and died in Robert's Rebellion.  
Bran recalled the fight at the tower in the vision the Three-Eyed Raven had shown him. He thought back to the men with his father. One of them was Martyn Cassell. The boy didn't recall how he knew that just that he did. It irked him; ultimately, everything seemed to come back to Robert's Rebellion. Especially to do with this current 'War of the Five Kings' madness. It particularly irritated Bran because he knew that tower meant something, and the Raven had deliberately stopped him from finding out what it was.  
He became so engrossed in his reverie that he didn't realise straight away when his companions returned. Meera startled Bran when she let him know they were back. “Sorry, you gave me a fright,” he told her, as he recovered his breath. She quickly apologised. The young man laughed. “You don't need to say sorry, Meera. I shouldn't have been thinking so deeply, as to not notice you come in.”

“Thinking about anything in particular?” the young woman from the Neck asked, smiling as she did. Benjen gave her a warning look, and her jaw instantly dropped open. She recovered quickly though. “What? I didn't mean anything in particular untoward, if that's what you thought, Benjen.”

“Apologies then,” the elder Stark replied contritely. “I defaulted to thinking you were flirting again. My mistake.”

The younger Stark thought his uncle's discomfort at making the wrong conclusion was a little funny, but he dared not laugh. He knew that would insult Uncle Benjen more. Instead, Bran told them both what he'd been caught up in remembering. “I was thinking about home,” he mentioned. “A long time ago, before the King came to visit. Trying to remember everyone's faces.”  
All of a sudden, the heir to Winterfell grew sad. “When I close my eyes, and I see Mother and Father... I can't remember them. Not how I saw them last with my own eyes. I see them how they were... when I saw them die.” A tear ran silently down his cheek. “The last time I saw either of them, in person... it was before I fell.”

++++++++++++++

Meera wanted to run to Bran and comfort him. Benjen put his hand on her shoulder before she could move, though. She turned to him. The look in the man's eye told her that he'd take care of his nephew this time. She understood the Black Brother's caution. Reluctantly, the Crannogwoman sat down and began to prepare the rabbits she and Benjen had caught.  
It saddened her because all Meera wanted to do was hold Bran in her arms. She understood completely, about closing his eyes and not being able to see his parents as they'd been in life. The heir to the Neck had the exact same problem when she tried to picture Jojen. Still, she didn't think it would help Bran at all if she told him that, though.  
The Crannogwoman watched as Benjen Stark hugged his nephew, and she found that she was somewhat jealous. That surprised her, so she tried distracting herself with her work. Bran clung to his uncle, for what seemed like an eternity to Meera. When her friend finally let Benjen go, he told the dead man, “No offence, Uncle Benjen, but I prefer Meera hugging me.” Bran giggled. “She's a lot warmer than you.” The girl from the Neck smiled. She was glad her prince liked her hugs.

The elder Stark laughed as well. “I know,” he told his brother's son. “But I thought it best to take care of you myself, for once.” Meera understood the subtext of Benjen's words. So too did Bran, she surmised, from the set of his shoulders and his sudden aversion to looking her way combined with a reddening face. The Night's Watchman got up and came back to sit near the Crannogwoman to help her with the carcasses. She decided to roast them whole over the fire, as she didn't feel particularly like making stew again. As they cooked, Meera reclined against the wall and watched the flames.

++++++++++++++

“Uncle Benjen?” Bran asked. “Can I ask you something?” Since he'd thought about the tower earlier, the young man had wondered if his father had talked to anyone about it. Benjen nodded. Meera looked over at her friend, seemingly intrigued as to what he might ask. “Did my father ever talk to you about the rebellion? I mean, specifically about a tower guarded by some Kingsguard.”

His uncle surprised him. “No,” he answered, before turning his head to meet his nephew's gaze. “But I know something happened there.” Bran waited for Benjen to elaborate. “Just hearsay and rumours,” he continued. “I suspect you've already seen more than I know.”

“I know there is something important in that tower,” the greenseer thought out loud. “I just don't know what. The Three-Eyed Raven pulled me out of the vision before I could see what was in the tower.” He remembered how much that had frustrated him at the time. “I got angry at him because he wouldn't let me go back,” Bran admitted. He sighed. “It seems so stupid now. Getting angry.” The youth looked at his arm and rubbed his tunic over where the Night King had grabbed him in his vision.

Everyone sat in silence after Bran stopped talking, lost in their own thoughts. When the rabbits were done roasting, they ate their fill, then the leftovers went into Meera's sack. “How far are we from the Wall, Benjen?” she asked. “All this riding has skewed my sense of distance.” The Crannogwoman laughed briefly. “That, and we had hardly any idea of direction when we made our way up here in the first place.”

“Two more nights,” the former First Ranger answered. “We'll make the Wall the day after, late in the afternoon.” Bran wondered if Meera was looking forward to sleeping in a bed again. He certainly was.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this chapter was a major pain to finish and I nearly gave up in frustration. The muses returned though, and here is the result. The next chapter is also being a bit stubborn, but I sincerely hope to have it out before Season 8 drops. (Fingers crossed.)  
> Shout-out to MagnusAntoniusBarca for beta-reading this multiple times and his great suggestions! He also gets a small dialogue credit, as a particular paragraph had some major rework needed. [This was one of the reasons for the delay, I couldn't get the dang conversation to come out right. :( ]
> 
> Please enjoy, and please let me know what you think!


End file.
